Thirty Times Three
by Hot elf
Summary: My contribution to the "Challenge on Infinite Earths" on tumblr. It's a 30-day-challenge, where my three favourite characters - Megan Cousland, Nathaniel Howe and Carver Hawke - get placed in thirty different scenarios and alternate universes. In my canon universe, those three meet at Vigil's Keep, but this challenge takes them far beyond the borders of Thedas.
1. Day 1 - Hogwarts

**Day 1 - Hogwarts**

Carver hated Hogwarts. Right from the start. The other kids on the train had made fun of him for being too big and clumsy. The teachers had sighed in resignation when they had heard his name. "_Another_ Hawke!" - as if Revon's many pranks were somehow his fault. And the bloody Sorting Hat put him in _Hufflepuff_. Stupid, boring, useless Hufflepuff. What in Merlin's name had he done to deserve this? Revon hadn't stopped laughing for a whole week.

The first three years at school were a complete nightmare, an endless series of humiliations and frustrations. "Put that away, Carver, you'll only break it." "Merlin, Carver, _anyone_ can do that spell! What are you, a squib?" And, the worst, "Blimey, Revon, are you sure he's really your brother? He must have been adopted." More than once he'd wished he could leave, maybe go to Durmstrang instead. But, of course, his parents wouldn't hear of it.

Then his fourth year started and, to his big surprise, things got… better. It helped that Revon was finally out of the way, after graduating with straight A's and a record number of detentions. It also helped that Carver had grown over the summer and had managed to get a spot on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team as a Beater. But the real change came about when the teams of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor decided to train together and started to hang out after their practice matches. For the first time ever, he was part of a group of friends, automatically invited, made welcome.

And of course, _she_ was there: Megan Cousland, Gryffindor's seeker, fast as lightning on her broom, sweet, sassy, with freckles and strawberry red hair and a ready smile on her face. Everyone wanted to be Megan's friend, but she was never arrogant about it. She had even offered to help Carver with his flying and, when he'd mentioned he had trouble with Charms, she spent an extra hour in the library with him every Wednesday afternoon, practising spells. He felt comfortable with her, happy and relaxed.

Time passed, and she became Head Girl and captain of her team, almost ready to leave school behind. He was still a Sixth Year struggling with coming to terms with his N.E.W.T. course load. They still saw each other every day, still joked and laughed together but secretly, his feelings for her had taken on a whole new dimension. It had never occurred to him that she would be interested in anything more than his friendship, of course. She was a year above him, wildly popular, pretty and smart. And he was still Carver; still a big oaf who blushed when talked to and could never come up with a clever answer. Why would Megan care about him? Even if she'd known how he woke every night, stiff and aching after dreaming of her; even if he ever plucked up the courage to tell her how he felt, the best he could hope for was to be let down gently.

Until she kissed him, after the first match of the season. Gryffindor had beaten Ravenclaw soundly, and they had all partied until late at night, over at the Pitch. He offered to walk back to the Castle with her, just to keep her company. But when they were about to part at the door to the Gryffindor Common Room, she suddenly took hold of his school tie and pulled him close, pressing her sweet lips to his. He was caught completely off guard, but she smelled so good, of rain and wind and butterbeer, and it was like all his dreams were coming true. Before he knew it, he was kissing her back, hungry and greedy, without any subtlety or refinement.

"Merlin, Carver, you've grown up so much." Her voice sounded breathless as she followed the line of his wide shoulders with her fingertips, then arched against him.

A furious blush spread across his cheeks when he realized she could probably feel him, rock hard against her stomach, but she didn't pull away and he kissed her again, groaning into her mouth. His trembling hands tightened around her waist, then slipped under the hem of her shirt, eager to feel her soft skin. She made a small noise in the back of her throat, and then his hands were on her breasts, and her nipples were hard and taut under his palms and he nearly lost it.

Megan pushed him back, but she was panting and there was a smile on her flushed face. "Carver. Let's save some for later, okay?"

He nodded numbly, trying to keep the stupid grin off his face at the thought that there would be a _later_. "Good night, Meggie."

"Good night." She disappeared through the picture frame with a bright smile.

As he walked back to his dorm, his heart was beating wildly. She had kissed him. Him. Carver Hawke.

Hogwarts was the most beautiful place in the world.

* * *

When he came down to breakfast the next morning, the place was in uproar, practically buzzing with excitement. He made his way over to the Hufflepuff table, trying to make sense of the snatches of dialogue he could pick up: "…tried to break into the McGonagall's Office, apparently…" – "…but how did he even…" – "…should be taken to Azkaban…"

Grabbing a roll and some jam, he sat down and had just opened his mouth to ask for more information when the Headmistress knocked hard on her table, clearing her throat. "You may have heard rumours of a break-in at Hogwarts last night. They are, of course, wildly exaggerated. It's true, though, that a former student of ours was caught, unauthorized, on the premises. I will deal with this incident as I see fit, but I can assure you there is no cause for alarm. Please return to your studies and try to refrain from unnecessary gossip."

Of course, the murmur of voices started up again immediately, despite McGonagall's exhortations. Carver shook his head. _A former student?_ What was going on? Then he saw Megan, huddled up in a corner with Anders and Velanna. She looked pale and when he walked over, giving her a shy grin, her answering smile looked strained.

"Yes, I know him." She was in the middle of talking to Anders. "He was one of Fergus's friends, used to come to our place for the holidays. He seemed okay, though." Megan took a deep breath. "I wonder what McGonagall will do."

"The guy who broke in?" Carver's mouth was dry. "Who is he? And why would he do such a thing?"

"Nathaniel Howe." Megan seemed a little calmer now and, to his great relief, she smiled at him again. "I have no idea, but I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation."

"Are you?" Anders shrugged, tossing back his hair. "He was a Slytherin, after all."

"Yeah, well, so was Carver's brother," Megan snapped back at him. "Doesn't mean he's a bad guy. Lots of Slytherins turn out perfectly fine."

Carver was about to point out that Revon really wasn't a good example when Velanna spoke up, her pretty face wearing an expression of bored disdain. "But wasn't his father a Death Eater? Rendon Howe? I heard he was You-Know-Who's right hand."

They were interrupted by the bell, but Carver kept thinking back to their conversation all through the morning. Who was this guy? And why was Megan defending him? He got his answer at lunch, when he saw her approach McGonagall's table. The object of their earlier curiosity was there, seated right next to the Headmistress's empty chair. Carver couldn't resist the temptation to hover close by, watching and listening.

Nathaniel Howe looked to be in his twenties, tall and with strong, wide shoulders. His hair was black and lanky, his eyes clear and grey, and he sported a small goatee that drew even more attention to his impressive nose. He looked grumpy but when he raised his head and his eyes fell on Megan, a sudden bright smile lit up his face, transforming it completely.

"Megan! I haven't seen you in ages!" To Carver's shocked surprise, he pulled her into a brief hug that left her flushed with excitement. "Merlin, you have become even prettier than you used to be."

"Nate." Megan seemed unusually shy. "What-"

"Later. I'll explain, I promise." Nathaniel smiled at her again, and Carver noticed he had taken hold of her hand. "I'll find you and we can have a nice long chat. But the Headmistress wants to talk to me first and besides, I believe someone's waiting for you." He indicated Carver with a brief tilt of his head.

Megan turned to follow his gaze, then withdrew her hand slowly. "Carver. Yes. You're right." She hesitated, though, before she left Nathaniel's side. "Promise?"

"Of course." He flashed another smile at her, then swivelled around to face Carver, and – w_as that a wink?_ Carver had a hard time hiding his confusion as he left the room, Megan in tow.

* * *

_Many, many hugs and thanks to the wonderful suilven for agreeing to take on this challenge with me as my beta.  
_


	2. Day 2 - Zombies

**Day 2 – Zombies**

"Was that the last one?" Megan peered over Nathaniel's shoulder through the narrow gap in the boards they had nailed over the old farmhouse's windows.

He lowered his rifle. "I think so. For the time being."

He looked exhausted. No wonder. For the past three days they'd been holed up here, fighting off wave after wave of attackers. They were fortunate to have Nathaniel with them, Megan mused. Target shooting had turned out to be one of the more useful hobbies once the zombie apocalypse had begun. She wasn't a bad shot either, but Nathaniel's steady aim had proved invaluable in the past two weeks.

It had all happened so quickly. First, the rumours about a strange new virus, bred in a secret laboratory somewhere in South America. Then the news reports about victims falling prey to it within minutes, turned into mindless husks, aggressive and possessed of superhuman strength and speed. Their greyish skin and bloodshot eyes had quickly earned them the nickname "zombies", as had their unfortunate habit of tearing into their victims with their teeth, thus spreading the virus in record time.

The authorities had failed to realize the extent of the danger, and by now it was hard to tell whether there were any structures left in place that could deal with the advancing hordes. The media had gone dead a week ago, and people had begun to barricade themselves into their houses, hoarding provisions and ammunition in a desperate attempt to save themselves and their nearest and dearest.

"Megan?" Nathaniel's voice tore her out of her musings. "I'd like to take a quick nap, if that's okay. Could you keep watch for me for a while?" He smiled at her affectionately, raising a hand to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face.

Megan smiled back, feeling a pleasant shudder at his touch, despite her own exhaustion. He'd asked her for a date, back before the madness started, and she'd been sincerely flattered by his attention. Nathaniel was an attractive guy, dark and broody, and with an air of quiet competence. Still, now was not the time or place for romantic attachments. _And I wonder if there ever will be such a time again._

She sighed and nodded. "Get some rest. They'll be back soon enough."

Nathaniel had hardly left, headed for the back of the house where they'd set up their bunks, when Carver appeared in the doorway. "Would you like some company?"

He looked pretty drained as well, his thick black hair tousled, dark shadows on his cheeks. Megan chewed her lip for a moment in deliberation. She really ought to send him to bed. Yet, she'd be glad of the distraction. Her own thoughts tended towards the hopeless these days.

"Sure." Reaching for a pillow and a blanket, she made herself as comfortable as possible in her seat near the window.

The heating had gone out three days ago, but they'd stuck around because the farmhouse was both easily defensible and chock-full of provisions. She didn't know what had become of the farmer and his wife. She remembered them from when she'd come here to shop for organic food. Megan bit back a desperate laugh. It seemed unreal that she had ever worried about healthy eating or being careful with natural resources. If this whole thing went on a little longer, there would be no humans left to use up the Earth's bounty. _Probably it's just as well_.

Carver raised an eyebrow at her pensive expression, but didn't say a word as he made himself comfortable on the floor, right at her feet. He'd changed the most since they'd come here, transformed from a sulky teenager into a quiet, responsible young man. His physical strength had turned out to be a prime asset, as had his familiarity with tools and his skill at carpentry. _Far more useful now than any academic achievements._

"How are the others doing?" She nudged his shoulder. "Everyone okay?"

He shrugged. "As well as can be expected. Sigrun is doing her best to keep everyone's spirits up. Says the worst that can happen is that we all die." He gave her a crooked grin. "Not very comforting, come to think of it. Velanna has found a few books and refuses to talk to anyone. And Oghren and Anders are busy making dinner."

Megan made a face. "Oghren? Is he even sober enough to be let near a fire?"

Carver grinned. "He's stone-cold sober. There's not a drop left to drink in the house."

"Ouch. He must be grumpy as hell then." Megan pulled her feet up under the blanket. "Still, on the bright side, maybe he'll actually make himself useful now."

They were a curious company, thrown together by chance rather than by choice. When the attacks had started, they'd all been waiting at the local laundromat, strangers and casual acquaintances who'd avoided each other's gazes for the most part. Thanks to Nathaniel's quick thinking and Carver's solid muscles, they'd managed to barricade themselves in, make their way to the rooftops, and then eventually to the comparative safety of the surrounding countryside.

"Megan?" Carver was looking up at her, his eyes dark and serious. "Do you think we'll survive?"

She breathed a deep sigh. "I really don't know, Carver. Sometimes I feel we have a chance, if we can only hold out until they all succumb to the illness. And then again…"

Carver swallowed. "I know what you mean. But Megan, just in case we all die, I wanted to tell you-"

Before he could speak, gunfire erupted at the back of the house. Megan was on her feet in a flash. "Shit. They've sneaked past us and are coming from the other side."

She grabbed her gun and made for the door, but it opened before she could get there. Nathaniel was standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, his silhouette framed by the red light of the evening sun.

"Megan?" His voice sounded strained. "They… They got in."

Megan bit back a scream when she saw. The bite marks on his arm. The sickly colour of his skin. The expression in his eyes, glazing over, with the barest shred of sanity left.

"Damn it, Megan, shoot. Kill me. Now." It was almost a howl.

But she couldn't do it. Paralyzed by terror, she watched as his face turned feral and his lips turned up in a snarl. His fists opened and closed, as if he was struggling against his own body.

Then he attacked.


	3. Day 3 - Medieval

**Day 3 – Medieval**

_A/N: The DA world is already fairly medieval, so - to put a different twist on it - here's a Robin Hood AU for you. Enjoy!_

* * *

Nathaniel Howe shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable up in the tree's branches without making too much noise. Over on the other side of the road, he could just about make out Anders' silhouette, hidden in the luscious foliage of a tall beech tree. The others were too far away to be seen, but he knew they were there. They had left Friar Oghren in charge of the camp, taking all the able-bodied men with them. If their informant was correct, their target would be well guarded.

_No surprise there_. Of course Baron Cousland wouldn't let his only daughter travel without proper protection, especially if the rumours were true and she was carrying a substantial portion of her dowry with her. Nathaniel frowned at the thought. The Baron was known as a decent man. Why he would agree to marry his daughter to a repulsive creep like young Vaughan Kendells was a bit of a mystery. Then again, the groom's father, Sheriff Kendells, was the regent's right hand, and even the Baron would be powerless against a royal command. Still, according to gossip, the young lady was less than thrilled about the prospect, and he couldn't blame her.

Well, at least she would be granted a delay, Nathaniel thought, suppressing a dry chuckle. If all went well, they would seize her together with her coffers and keep her prisoner until her father paid up. Or, maybe her prospective bridegroom. Either way, the ransom should be sufficient to keep the outlaws warm and well-fed over the winter, with a little to spare for the starving peasants in the villages surrounding Denerim.

A faint whistle, hardly audible over the noises of the forest, made him instantly focus on the present. Their quarry was in sight. Slowly, he raised his bow, notching an arrow. A faint rustle from the tree opposite told him Anders was getting ready as well. They had to be as quiet as they possibly could. The element of surprise would be vital if they were to stand a chance against the heavily armed guards.

They heard the squeaking of the wheels and the clopping of the horses' hooves before the wagon and its escort crested the hill. Taking deep, steady breaths, Nathaniel silently counted the guardsmen: thirteen altogether, with a dashing young captain on a grey charger in the lead. A tough fight, but feasible. At least, if they didn't see the trap in time. Just then the guard captain doubled back to the wagon, bending down to its open window where a small, white hand was visible, gesticulating animatedly. Nathaniel bit back a curse. Their task would have been far easier if the captain had remained in front. Two more yards, one—

The first four guardsmen gave loud cries of surprise as their horses suddenly stumbled, their front legs skidding downwards into the cleverly concealed pit. The riders went tumbling headfirst onto the ground. Cursing loudly, the captain called to the others to stand back and surround the wagon, but three more horses were so frightened by the racket that they took off at a gallop. _Six left_. Raising his bow, Nathaniel gave the signal.

Their arrows flew true but, even so, it was a messy struggle, and the captain didn't give in until he was surrounded by seven of them, his sword kept in check by Kristoff's halberd. They bound him tightly, ignoring his muttered curses. Judging from his pretty armour, he might even fetch a ransom of his own. Nathaniel was about to approach the wagon when the door opened and the young lady stepped out, clutching a slim dagger.

"Sir Carver? What is the meaning of this?" Her voice was high and clear, and she didn't look afraid at all.

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. Lady Megan Cousland was… not what he'd expected: not a shy, demure little damsel, fresh out of the convent; not a sweet English rose with blushing cheeks and golden tresses. Her reddish hair was pulled back in a tight braid, which didn't quite keep some stray locks from escaping. And, while her eyes were indeed stunning, light green and luminous, her face was cute rather than classically beautiful, with a small, upturned nose covered in freckles. For a moment, he was seized by the urge to kiss every one of them, to see if her cheeks would dimple in a smile, but then he got a grip on himself.

"I'm sorry, my lady." The captain was visibly shaken. "It seems we have been taken prisoner by outlaws."

Now that his helmet was off, his youth was even more obvious. Still, he was a comely fellow, with thick black hair and pretty brown eyes, tall and muscular; an able warrior, too. Nathaniel almost pitied him. It would be tough to face the Baron's wrath for his failure to protect Lady Megan.

"Outlaws!" The Lady still seemed unfazed. "I told my father crossing the forest was hardly safe." She turned to face the assembled attackers. "Who is your leader?"

"That would be me." Nathaniel stepped to the front. "Nathaniel Howe, though you may know me as Swift Nate, the Archer."

A small smile spread over her face. "Swift Nate, eh? They say you are an honourable sort, as far as that can be said for your kind. Will you treat me as befits a lady?"

He shrugged. "Our lives are rough, so don't expect any luxuries. But I'll give you my word that no harm shall come to you as long as you're a guest in my camp." He gestured toward his second-in-command. "Anders. Make sure she's bound and cannot run."

"You would not take a lady's word for that?" Those green eyes were sizing him up, almost insolently.

"No, my lady, I wouldn't." He turned away, ignoring her angry hiss. "Experience has taught me not to trust a noble's promise. Besides…" He felt a small grin tug at the corners of his lips. "You have far too much spirit not to attempt an escape."


	4. Day 4 - Spies

**Day 4 – Spies**

Carver glanced nervously across the gambling table, wondering which of the ladies would turn out to be his contact.

"You'll recognize me easily enough," she'd purred into the phone. "I'll be the one in the stunning evening dress."

He almost snorted aloud. This was St Tropez, and every single lady in the room wore a robe fit for a red carpet event. Heavy brocade, slinky silk, smooth velvet, in all hues of the rainbow. And his head was beginning to ache from looking at all the dazzling jewels gracing long, slender necks and dainty fingers.

"Sir?" The croupier shot him a questioning look and he hurriedly placed his bet.

_I just hope they have given me enough chips to last the evening_. Carver rolled his shoulders, uncomfortable in the high-necked shirt. He knew he looked the part of the young playboy billionaire, but this kind of undercover mission always made him nervous. At least he had his trusted Walther with him, the holster cleverly hidden by the cut of the suit.

There was a commotion at the other side of the table and two gentlemen stepped aside, making room for a young woman. She looked barely out of her twenties but, the moment he set eyes on her, Carver knew without a doubt that it was her. _M_. His contact, his way into the casino owner's good graces. She went by the name of Marguerite this time, he recalled. And her powerful lover had no idea she was secretly working for the secret service.

She had been right about being easy to recognize, though. Carver's throat went dry and he caught himself staring at her. Her copper-coloured hair was swept up in a complicated chignon, letting just a few artful strands escape; her face was carefully made-up and her eyes, green like a cat's, shone brightly in the candlelight. And yes, her gown was stunning. The same colour as her eyes, it hugged her body in all the right places and was cut low to leave her slim back completely bare.

When she looked up and smiled at him, he pulled himself together. Time to play his part.

"Marguerite? How nice to see you! I expected to see you at St Moritz in January, but there was no trace of you. Where have you been hiding?"

"Charles! Is that really you, darling? So lovely to run into you here!" She extended her arms toward him with a smile that widened even further when he lifted one of them to his lips to breathe a kiss on it. "Always the charmer!" She gave him a conspiratorial wink yet, when she spoke, she made sure everyone in the vicinity would overhear them. "Matters of the heart kept me here, sweetheart. You must meet dear Nathaniel, as soon as he shows up for the evening."

"Nathaniel?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "You don't mean-"

"Shhhhh!" She raised a finger to her lips. "I'll tell you all about him over a glass of champagne. Will you join me at the bar?"

"With pleasure." He mentally shook his head at her demeanour, when he compared it to the profile in her secret file. No one would have guessed that behind that flighty, brainless exterior, she was hiding a brilliant mind and several less than typical accomplishments: a doctorate in nuclear physics; a black belt in karate; a fighter pilot's license; and a locksmithing diploma, to name but a few. She was regarded as one of the service's most valuable assets, yet known as a wild card, with an eye on her own agenda. As he followed her over to the bar, he reminded himself not to get too relaxed in her presence.

The champagne was delicious, even if he'd have preferred a tumbler of whisky. He did his best to keep up his side of the conversation as they exchanged gossip about fictitious mutual acquaintances and their exploits in various haunts of the international jet set. It wasn't hard. She did most of the talking, dropping names with assurance and whipping up anecdotes that were actually funny. He was chuckling at a particularly juicy story involving a famous Hollywood actress when she spotted someone behind his right shoulder.

"Nate! Look who I ran into!" Her eyes were so full of affection that Carver almost fell for it. No one who saw that look could fail to believe she was genuinely in love.

Turning around, he came face to face with its recipient. Nathaniel Howe, owner of this very casino and at least three others, fabulously rich, and known for his impeccable taste in art and women. He was also suspected to be the mastermind behind several shady operations here on the coast, but they hadn't been able to prove anything so far. Two well-trained bodyguards hovered discreetly behind him.

"My lovely Marguerite." Howe had a hoarse, husky voice, and his hooded grey eyes fixed Carver with a penetrating look that made it clear nothing much escaped his notice. "Won't you introduce me to your charming acquaintance?"

Carver felt a shudder run down his spine. Instinctively, he knew he was in danger, despite the friendly words and the polite smile on Howe's face. This man wasn't easily fooled.

Marguerite laughed, a high, tinkling sound that seemed strangely at odds with the atmosphere. Carver shook himself, chasing away the paranoid feeling.

"This is Charles Falcon, love. A very old friend. I'm sure you'll enjoy his company." She leaned into Howe's embrace with a wink at Carver. "The two of you can talk sports all night."

Howe smiled at her words, though the smile didn't reach his eyes. "An enticing prospect, indeed. Why don't you come over to my place for dinner tomorrow night, Mr Falcon? My chef is quite amazing, I am told."

"With pleasure, sir." Charles bowed crisply. "Marguerite." He took his leave quickly, eager to relay this development to V at home and then to celebrate his success with a long hot bath and a stiff drink.

As he passed through the high, gilded doors, he caught a last glance of the two of them, standing at the bar, their heads close together. Howe's hand was placed possessively on her lower back and there was a curious expression on his face as she whispered something in his ear. Once more, Carver felt his spine tingle.

Tomorrow night definitely promised to be interesting.


	5. Day 5 - School

**Day 5 – School**

Megan leaned back in her chair, hiding her bored yawn behind her hand. History of Ferelden was definitely her least favourite subject. Listening to old MacTir droning on and on about kings and teyrns and landsmeets was just about the most boring thing she could imagine. Right now, he was a little more animated than usual, pontificating about some battle or other – White River? River Dane? She always got those mixed up. Either way, he was getting really worked up about it. _You'd almost think he'd been there in person._

Nate flashed her a grin from his seat over by the window, taking advantage of the old man's turned back to launch a small paper airplane in her direction. She caught it, grinning back, and swiftly hid it under her desk. Velanna rolled her eyes at their antics, then went back to doodling plants in the margins of her book. Anders stifled a laugh, then put on his most serious face as MacTir glared in his direction. _Just another day at Vigil's Keep_. They had done better than most schools in Ferelden in last year's finals, but she was glad to see that the students were as normal as they got.

Carefully, Megan unfolded the paper, squinting to decipher Nate's spidery handwriting. Just three words: _Study group tonight? _Their code for a night out on the town. Megan felt a happy tingle spread in her belly. They'd done this several times now. As soon as her parents were asleep, she'd snuck out through a window and he'd taken her to Amaranthine on his motorbike to party the night away. Closing her eyes for a moment, she recalled their last jaunt, three days ago, to a small club near the harbour. They had danced for hours: Nate's long lean body hot against hers; his lips brushing against her neck; his hoarse voice whispering in her ear. He'd kissed her when they'd got back, in the hidden corner behind the garage, a long, skilful kiss that had left her hungry for more.

Nate knew what he was doing. He was a few years older than her, having spent several years over in the Free Marches with some aunt or other. On his return two years ago, Headmaster Varel had considered his education too patchy to group him in with the other students his age, so he'd ended up in Megan's class instead. They'd become fast friends immediately, always up to some mischief or other. Only now it seemed they were well on their way of becoming more than friends…

The ringing of the bell saved them from yet another analysis of King Maric's strategic shortcomings. Maths would be next, with Mrs Woolsey. _Another old bore_. Really, if it weren't for Mr Garevel who taught Geography, the place might as well be a retirement home.

"See you at lunch?" Sigrun nudged her from behind, a bright smile on her pretty little face. "I'm dying to hear more about your latest little adventure."

"Shhh." Megan put a finger to her lips, tilting her head slightly in Habren's direction.

She couldn't risk her overhearing anything. The arrogant brunette was a teacher's pet, and would gladly seize any opportunity to get into the Headmaster's good graces, even if it meant tattling on Megan. _Especially_ if it meant getting Megan in trouble, in fact. And if Varel told her parents about this, there'd be no more outings with Nate.

"Oh, right." Sigrun nodded. "Well, I have Science with Glavonak in Period Four, over in the new wing, so I might be a little late. Will you save me a seat?"

Megan nodded, slightly preoccupied by the fact that Mrs Woolsey hadn't shown up yet although it was nearly five minutes into the lesson. This was not like the old bat at all. Just then, the door opened and their teacher walked in, followed by the Headmaster and a tall, dark-haired boy. Quickly, they all jumped up and chorused their good mornings.

"Sit down, everyone." Varel's lined face bore a stern expression. "I'd like to introduce you to a new student. Carver Hawke, just recently arrived from Kirkwall."

Megan eyed the new arrival with interest. He was tall and heavily built. _Probably into sports._ Quite cute in a way, though it was hard to tell with the sulky look on his face. Thick black hair, pretty brown eyes with long lashes, tanned skin… _Yup, cute._ And from Kirkwall… She tried to recall what she knew about the city on the other side of the Waking Sea, but it wasn't much. Did they even speak Fereldan?

Mrs Woolsey looked less than happy at the prospect of having another student to deal with. "Welcome, Carver. Take a seat. Over there, with Megan."

Megan sighed inwardly as she gathered her belongings closer, making room for him. She'd rather enjoyed having a whole desk to herself. On the bright side, she'd be the first to get to know the guy from Kirkwall better. Habren was already turning green with envy, whispering furiously into Leliana's ear.

As soon as the Headmaster had left and Mrs Woolsey's back was turned, Megan mouthed a silent "Hey there" at the new boy. He nodded stiffly at her, but didn't respond. _Ah, well._ She would wait until break time. Carver's hands were shaking slightly as he unpacked his belongings but, when the teacher asked a question, he answered correctly, if a little hesitantly.

Mrs Woolsey raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. "Well, it seems they did at least teach you the basics over in Kirkwall. That's a relief."

Nate caught Megan's gaze, rolling his eyes skyward in an exaggerated grimace that made her stifle a giggle.

"Anything you'd like to add, Megan?" Mrs Woolsey's voice was cool and crisp.

"Nothing, miss." Megan bit her lip, putting on her most virtuous face.

For the rest of the lesson, she did her best to focus on maths. Their final exams weren't all that far away, and Megan intended to do well on them. Fun-loving and cheerful she might be, but she was by no means brainless. Still, the lesson seemed to take ages today. When the bell finally rang, Carver wasn't eager to talk, digging through his satchel with single-minded concentration as if it was the most interesting object in the world.

But she didn't let that put her off. "Hey. I'm Megan."

"I heard." His voice was surprisingly deep but, boy, he really wasn't much of a talker, was he?

She wasn't about to give up so easily, though. "Why did you transfer in the middle of the year? Couldn't you have finished school in Kirkwall?"

"I… There was an incident at the Gallows. At my old school. I had to leave." His face closed up even further. "Listen, are you always so curious?"

She shrugged. "You're a new face. Everyone will have a million questions. You might as well get it out of the way."

"Leave him alone, Meg." Nate had come over, slinging his satchel over his shoulder, a frown on his face. "Come on. We need to get our _study group_ organized."

Megan got up with a dramatic sigh. "All right. But trust me…" Turning back, she winked cheekily at Carver. "You'll wish you'd put up with me as soon as Habren gets her claws into you."


	6. Day 6 - Merpeople

**Day 6 – Merpeople**

_A/N: The prompt was "Mythical creatures". Anyway, this AU totally took over my brain for the longest time – which is why this is so long. I promise it's fun, though. Also, there's smut.  
_

* * *

Maybe he should have stayed below decks when the storm hit.

Yeah, definitely. That's what he should have done. But it had been so… exhilarating: gusts of wind hitting his face; the briny taste of seawater on his lips; the roar of the waves around him. Carver hadn't felt so alive since they'd left Ferelden. Certainly not down in the ship's hold, cooped up with his family among the other refugees, trying to ignore Mother's sobs and his brother's muffled curses.

They had warned him, of course, told him to stay down with the others, where he would be _safe_. As if he wanted to be safe. Not after what had happened to Bethany. When the wave had hit the ship, he hadn't stood a chance. He'd gone straight overboard, only just managing to cling to a plank that kept him floating for a while. But now his arms were getting tired and it was so tempting to just let go, to let the sea take him, let the green water drag him down, into a cold, wet grave…

He blinked when he first saw her, sure he was hallucinating. Creatures like this were the stuff of fairy tales, children's imaginings. She looked just like the pictures in Mother's old book of tales, with wild hair, green eyes, and a scaly tail. She was naked from the waist up. Even in his current predicament this made him blush, so he focussed on her face and her eyes. Such amazing eyes, large and luminous, and green like the sea.

"Let go. I've got you." She was right behind him, her firm body surprisingly warm against his icy skin.

He shook his head, remembering what the tales said about mermaids luring poor unsuspecting sailors into the depths with them. He had to be strong, had to resist the temptation. But he was so very tired. Bright spots were appearing in front of his eyes, dancing lights, so pretty, so cheerful…

"Trust me." The mermaid's voice was sweet and seductive. "I don't mean you any harm." Her hands wandered from his shoulders down to where he was clinging to the plank, gently loosening his fingers. "Let go."

And he did.

They went down in a smooth glide, propelled by her tailfins. He was convinced he would die but, suddenly, her hand was in front of his mouth, pushing something cold and slimy between his lips. He struggled for a moment, until he realized he could breathe. Eyes wide with wonder, he stared at her, but she just smiled and pulled him further along, never letting go of his wrist.

Carver couldn't have said where she took him, nor how long their strange underwater journey lasted. But, in the end, he felt something scrape the soles of his feet. They were in shallow water. Only moments later, his head rose above the surface again. He coughed and spluttered until he remembered the thing in his mouth and spit it into his hand, drawing several deep, relaxed breaths.

She had let go of his hand and was moving toward the shore, a small sandy beach within a cave of some kind. Sunlight was falling through a cleft in the rock, making her hair shine like copper. He followed her, watching her shyly.

When she stepped out of the water, he realized that what he had taken for a tail were, in fact, long legs clad in skin tight leggings. They were made from a shiny, greenish material resembling fish scales with some kind of fringe down the sides that gave the illusion of fins. The skin of her back was pale, but looked human, soft and silky, and when she turned, once again his eyes were drawn to her bare breasts, firm and high and perfect.

He swallowed. "Who are you? And what is this place?"

She smiled. "I'm Maeghan. And this is the Keep. The home of my people."

"Your people?" Carver was shivering, partly because he was soaked through and cold and tired, partly from fear.

She shrugged. "You landfolk call us merpeople. You have some funny ideas about us, from what I've heard. Come. I'll take you to my home." She flashed him a brief smile. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Carver." He shook himself, like a wet dog. "I'm Carver Hawke."

"Come then, Carver Hawke." She took his hand. "Let's find you a dry blanket."

As he followed her further into the cave, he instinctively reached out for the walls, trying to touch the rock, surprised when it felt firm and real under his fingertips. Surely all this had to be a crazy dream, brought about by too much rum or bad food. Yet, no dream of his had ever featured a girl as beautiful as Maeghan.

A long, winding tunnel took them to another cave, this one dry and warm and with a driftwood fire burning in the middle. There was no one to be seen, but he could hear muffled noises from a small shelter at the back.

Maeghan walked over to the fire, adding another log, then called out, "Nethanel. Look what I've found."

The man that emerged from the shelter looked wild, almost feral, at least a foot taller than the girl, with long, straggly dark hair, a wide chest and strong, well-muscled arms. Like her, he wore no shirt and the same tight pants, which left nothing much to the imagination. Carver swallowed again.

"Maeghan. Why did you bring a land dweller here?" His face was dark and his voice was rough with anger and … was that jealousy? Carver wasn't sure.

She lifted a graceful shoulder. "He was drowning. He's too young to die."

Nethanel murmured something that sounded like an obscenity and turned away, stalking over to the opposite end of the cave where he disappeared into a tunnel. Maeghan watched him leave, her face inscrutable, then turned back to Carver. "Don't worry. He'll understand."

Carver realized his hands were sweaty. "Are you… his?"

"Am I what?" She looked at him with genuine puzzlement. "If anything, he's mine." She shook her head. "He's sworn to protect me, and he's a good man, loyal and fierce. As he should be."

"But will he-" Carver hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. "It seems he resents my being here."

"That's not for him to decide." Maeghan seemed unfazed. "And anyway, it's not as if I've asked you to mate with me. Yet," she added with a cheeky grin that made him blush up to the roots of his hair.

At the same time, he couldn't suppress a yawn, and her expression changed immediately, turning softer and more concerned. "Come on. Get some rest."

Some part of him was still screaming warnings at him, telling him to run, not to fall prey to her wiles. But he was simply too exhausted. Gratefully, he accepted the pallet she offered him. He was asleep before his head hit the mattress.

* * *

When Carver woke, alerted by a noise he couldn't place, the cave was dark except for the warm light of the campfire. He peered out through the shelter's opening and there they were, right next to the fire, just a few paces away. Both of them were naked, Nethanel flat on his back and Maeghan straddling him, their eyes locked as she moved above him. They had obviously assumed he was fast asleep, or maybe they just didn't care.

Either way, he couldn't take his eyes off them, mesmerized by the soft, undulating motion of her body, by the tiny whimpers coming from her lips and the way Nethanel's hands were gripping her hips. It was exciting and embarrassing, and he was rock hard from watching alone but, at the same time, the sheer unearthly beauty of the scene made him hold his breath. They were both so gorgeous as they made love, completely unselfconscious, their bodies in perfect harmony.

When Maeghan's rhythm faltered, Nethanel sat up, one hand firmly on her back and he took charge of their coupling, thrusting up hard beneath her, and her moans became louder, more urgent. Carver realized he was breathing faster and harder, too, and he had to fight the urge to slip a hand under the blanket and touch himself. It didn't feel right and, really, he ought to let them know he was awake but, at the same time, he didn't have the heart to disturb them, to break the spell that held them captive.

So he kept watching until Maeghan arched up high with a final, sharp cry and Nethanel slumped against her with a rough groan, hiding his face between her breasts, panting heavily. They kissed, with as much gentleness as passion, then curled up next to the fire without so much as a look in his direction. He waited until he was sure they were asleep; then he quickly stroked himself to completion, rough and unrefined. He fell asleep again, ashamed of his behaviour, yet unable to help it.

When he woke again, Maeghan was nowhere in sight and Nethanel was sitting near the fire, busying himself with a pan and a griddle. Carver got up, gingerly wrapping his blanket around himself, and headed out of the shelter. His bladder was full and he glanced awkwardly at Nethanel. "Where…"

The other man wordlessly tilted his head toward a small side tunnel and Carver followed it to a gap in the rock, undercut by a deep running current. When he returned, Nethanel handed him some greenish biscuits and a piece of grilled fish, which he accepted with a grateful nod. He was ravenously hungry, and was relieved to find the food was both nourishing and tasty. Quickly, he polished off his ration, then gladly accepted a second helping. The corner of Nethanel's mouth twisted up slightly at this, but he remained quiet until Carver sat back with a contented sigh.

"Thank you. That was delicious." He glanced shyly over at the merman.

Nethanel nodded. "Tomorrow I will show you how to prepare our food."

Carver swallowed. It seemed he was here to stay. Probably he should be more worried about the thought. His mother and brother had to be convinced he was dead, drowned in the cold depths of the Waking Sea. For a moment, he felt a pang of guilt at the thought of having added to Leandra's grief. But, if he was honest, he felt no urge to return to their side.

"Yesterday you seemed unhappy about me being here." He kept his eyes on Nethanel's face, trying to read his reaction.

But he just shrugged. "It's Maeghan's cave, so it's her decision. And we can use another man in this camp. It would be easier for me if you were one of our kind, but you will learn. At least you look strong." He looked up at Carver and, for the first time, he actually smiled. "And handsome."

Instinctively, Carver gathered the blanket more tightly around his body. "So you wouldn't object if Maeghan wants to… mate with me?"

Nethanel shrugged again. "We have a saying among our people. _What a woman wants, a woman gets._ If Maeghan wants you, it's not my place to object."

Carver's throat felt tight. "What if I don't want to mate with her?"

"But why wouldn't you?" There was genuine surprise in Nethanel's voice. "She's beautiful and strong, good at combing the sea."

"Combing the sea?" Carver was confused.

Nethanel seemed to search for a word. "Fishing, I think you landfolk would say. Looking for pearls, and treasure, too. She can easily support two of us. Really, you should be proud she's chosen you." When Carver didn't answer, he frowned. "What's the matter? Don't you want to be hers?"

Carver felt another blush rise in his cheeks. "That's not it. It's just that… I've never…"

"Ah." Nethanel was quiet for a while, then he got up. "Come on. We'll have to get you a pair of pants, but you can have my extra pair for now." He flashed another brief smile at Carver. "And don't worry. As I said, you will learn."

* * *

Nethanel was as good as his word. He spent the whole morning patiently teaching Carver various skills he would need to be of help in the cave: gutting fish, opening oysters with a devilishly sharp knife, knotting nets. Carver did his best to keep up, but he was sincerely relieved when, after a quick lunch, Nethanel jumped to his feet and motioned for him to follow.

"Come. I have something you will like."

Carver got to his feet, tugging self-consciously at the pants hugging his legs and ass. Nethanel had done something to the waistline to make them fit better, his hands warm against the naked skin of Carver's belly, but they still felt far too tight. Fortunately, the material was soft, despite its scaly look. He'd asked the merman about it and the question had drawn one of his rare smiles from him.

"Maybe one day I'll show you how to make it. My father taught me. It's a rare skill." There was obvious pride in his voice.

Carver had picked up various hints about the merpeople's life during the morning. Their cave seemed to be part of a larger network and, from what he had gathered, there were at least three other females with their _mates_ living nearby.

"You'll meet them soon enough." Nethanel had seemed unconcerned. "Maeghan will decide when the time is right."

"So, the men do as they're told? And they stay in the caves all day long?" Carver had tried to hide his surprise as best he could.

"Of course we do. We guard the caves. That's our most important task." Nethanel had indicated the net they were mending. "This is just to pass the time."

He'd wondered what the caves had to be guarded against, and how the mermen fought, but hadn't wanted to ask more questions. He got his answer now, at least in part, when Nethanel produced two long tridents from a niche in the rock.

"Here." He tossed one to Carver. "Can you fight at all?"

"Not with a weapon like this." Carver shook his head.

Nethanel sighed, but he was patient as he showed him how to hold the shaft and went through several attack and defense routines with him. "Yes, like this. You don't have to use so much force, though. Skill will serve you better."

Carver was breathing hard from the exertion, but the trident felt good in his hands and it was a relief to work off some of his fury. He didn't have to worry about hurting the other man – Nethanel was far too quick and graceful for that. But he no longer felt quite as helpless and that was good. Carver threw himself into the fight with abandon. In his mind's eye, he was killing the ogre, saving Bethany, over and over again.

"Why are you so angry?" Nethanel frowned. "Your strokes… it's almost as if you want to punish someone."

He shook his head, blinking away a sudden tear. "Just myself. I…"

"What happened?" Nethanel's hand was on his shoulder, heavy and supportive, and the words tumbled from his lips before he could help himself.

"My sister, Bethy. My twin. She died when we were running from Lothering, killed by an ogre. I… I should have saved her." There was no answer, just the comforting weight of the other man's hand. "Teach me to fight, Nethanel." He raised his gaze to meet the merman's. "Please."

Nethanel nodded. "I will. And you will be a fearsome warrior once you get the hang of our weapons. You're strong and determined."

Carver felt his spine straighten at those words.

"I… had a brother." Nethanel wasn't looking at him. "Tam. He died about a year ago, killed by a fisherman's spear."

"I'm sorry." His words seemed inadequate but, really, was there ever anything else to say?

"Don't be." There was a hint of bitterness around Nethanel's mouth. "Tam was difficult, unhappy and rebellious. He wanted to be with Maeghan too, you see. Kept badgering her to take him to her cave."

When he saw Carver's confused expression, Nethanel elaborated. "Brothers can't mate with the same woman. It's wrong, unclean. But he refused to give up." He closed his eyes, clearly unwilling to show his feelings. "In a way, our lives became much easier when he died."

Carver swallowed, trying to imagine how he'd have felt if Revon had been the one to be killed by the ogre, instead of Bethany. Yes, he would have been relieved as well. Sad too, but mostly relieved. Of course, Revon had survived. His heroic brother had saved the day with his magic, just like always. He hadn't saved Bethy, though.

He shook off the thought. "One more round?"

Nethanel took up the trident with a brief nod. "Yes."

Maeghan returned shortly before sunset, looking tired and a bit straggly, dragging a full net behind her. Nethanel stood, ready to take it from her, and for the next hour they were busy preparing the meal and sorting through her findings while she rested near the fire.

Once they had all eaten, Nethanel pulled her onto his lap and took a comb from a small box, decorated with seashells. Maeghan settled on his thighs with a happy sigh as he began to untangle her hair, picking out small strands of seaweed and trying to loosen the knots. Carver watched them, feeling his throat tighten at the tenderness between them.

When he'd finished, Nethanel exchanged the comb for a small flask and briefly slapped Maeghan's back, indicating her leggings with a tilt of his head. "Off."

She complied with a grin, wiggling out of the tight garment. Nethanel ran a hand down her back, drawing a long moan from her, and, just like that, the mood changed from tender to sensual. Carver felt his face grow hot at the sight of her long, bare legs and the small, red-golden triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs. Not only his face, to be precise. Of course, his pants did nothing much to hide his reaction.

He was still debating whether he should withdraw to the shelter when Nethanel tossed him the flask. "Here. Help."

There was oil in there, aromatic and rich, and together they poured it over Maeghan's long, pale limbs, spreading it gently over her skin. Nethanel's hands seemed to be everywhere on her slim body, so Carver did his best to focus on her legs. They looked just like any other girl's legs he'd ever seen, not that there were many of those. Her skin was smooth and slippery, though, and it felt amazing under his hands.

He would have been mortally embarrassed by the bulge in his pants if Nethanel hadn't been just as visibly affected. Maeghan too, from what he could tell. Her skin was flushed and she met each of their touches impatiently, as if her body was begging for more.

"Carver. Please." Her hands were on him now, and he almost jumped back because her touch was so intense and he didn't know how long he would last.

He did get rid of the pants, though, but then he hesitated, instinctively looking to Nethanel for permission and guidance. The other man nodded briefly and took his hand, guiding it between Maeghan's legs. She opened up willingly for him and she was… hot and wet and tight and wonderful and he wanted her, oh Maker, he wanted her so much, and he had no idea how-

A firm hand wrapped around his cock, and he shuddered at the realization that it was Nethanel who'd taken hold of him and was now guiding him inside her. He slid home with a long, helpless gasp, completely overwhelmed by it all. No fantasy of his had ever prepared him for how good it felt to be surrounded by her, warm and snug and perfect.

Too perfect. His body was screaming at him to move, to thrust inside her, and it was more than he could bear. With another gasp, he gave in to the urge, his hips jerking hard against her, three, four times before he spilled deep inside her with a long, almost desperate groan.

Maeghan laughed softly, triumphantly, and then Nethanel pushed him aside, too impatient to wait, and took his place. Carver's knees were too wobbly to move, so he stayed there, right next to them, breathing in their sighs and gasps. The soft, rolling motion of Nethanel's hips was beautiful to watch, but then Maeghan wrapped her legs tight around his torso and urged him on.

"Harder. Please, Neth, more." Her voice was rough and breathless, and her hand scrambled for purchase in the sand until she found Carver's and threaded her fingers through his, pressing his hand hard.

Nethanel responded with a low growl, pushing himself up high on his arms and pounding inside her, hard and fast. She cried out and Carver bit his lip – surely, this had to be hurting her, had to be too much? But, Maeghan was still urging her lover on, with small sighs and whispered words, and Nethanel's pace became frantic. When her head flew back on a long sigh, her nails digging into his palm, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Carver kept holding her hand while Nethanel found his release with another hard, relentless thrust. Maeghan's face was flushed and happy, and Carver saw no reason to object when she pulled him in for a long kiss, then turned her head to kiss Nethanel too.

As he drifted off to sleep, listening to their low voices, Carver wondered once more if all of this was just a fevered dream, a vision sent by a desire demon to tempt him. _Too good to be true_. Breathing in Maeghan's salty, crisp scent, he closed his eyes. _Please don't ever make me wake up again._


	7. Day 7 - Fairy Tale

**Day 7 – Fairy Tale**

The thorny hedge loomed above him, blocking out the sunlight and nearly hiding the castle from view. If he squinted through the brambles, he could just about make out the grey boulders of the tower behind it.

Prince Nathaniel felt a shiver run down his spine. For almost a hundred years, it had been thus, his grandmother had told him. The once-proud castle, seat of the royal family of Highever, had sunk into a deep sleep when the pretty young princess had been cursed by an evil sorceress. He'd scoffed at this. _Children's tales_! Who had ever heard of such a thing happening?

But now, as he was standing in front of the hedge, he couldn't deny the feeling of gloom emanating from the old ruin. Almost as if it was true, as if there was really dark magic at work here… Slowly, step by step, he followed the perimeter. The thorns looked vicious, long and sharp, far more so than ordinary plants. As he rounded a corner, something crunched under his feet. Looking down, he bit back a scream.

_Bones. Human bones._ Something that looked like a foot close to the ground, and at about a yard's height, a ribcage and a skull stuck between the vines.

So, that part was true as well. Gran had told him about the young men who had tried to force their way in, back when the hedge had first grown. They had all perished, so the tale went, one by one, bleeding to death on the thorns, their bodies devoured by wild beasts.

But how could this be? He shook his head in wonder, pulling tentatively on a long vine. It didn't budge, despite his best efforts. Stepping back, he reached for the axe he'd brought and raised it high above his head.

"It's no use." A deep voice sounded behind him.

He swiveled around and found himself face to face with a dark-haired, broad-shouldered man in fine leathers, maybe four or five years younger than himself.

"It's no use," he repeated. "You'll only ruin your axe, and, if you step too close…" He indicated the human remains to their left with a tilt of his head. "This is no natural hedge."

"Who are you?" Nathaniel instinctively stood a little straighter. "And how come you know so much about this?"

"I'm Prince Carver of Kirkwall." The young man shot him an appraising look. "And I know because I've spent the past two days trying to get past this thing. But it's hopeless."

Nathaniel nodded, bowing his head. "My name is Nathaniel. I'm heir to the throne of Amaranthine. I came here because I was curious about the old tales." And his parents had been less than enthusiastic when he'd told them about his plan.

Carver nodded. "So was I. I figured there had to be some sort of logical explanation. But now that I'm here-"

"You're beginning to believe the tales are true," Nathaniel finished for him. "Yeah, me too. It's creepy." He glanced up at the darkening sky. "What do you say, shall we pool our provisions and make camp together?"

"Why not?" Carver shrugged. "It will be good to have company in this place."

Nathaniel secretly agreed. He was no coward, but this place felt _wrong_.

They found an agreeable enough spot a little ways from the ruin and built a fire. Despite just having met, they spent a pleasant evening together, sharing what food they'd brought and swapping stories about their families and their respective homes. Nathaniel found he rather enjoyed Carver's company. Back home, everyone was far too much in awe of the crown prince to be this relaxed around him. Ever since his younger brother Tom had succumbed to the plague, he'd been lonely.

"So, what exactly is it the legends say?" Nathaniel sat back with a contented sigh, rubbing his full stomach. "If I recall correctly, there's a beautiful princess, she's under a curse, whoever saves her gets her hand and half of the kingdom in return, and so on? The usual stuff?"

"Yeah, that pretty much sums it up." Carver grinned mirthlessly. "Only she's been in there for a hundred years or so, so who knows if she's still as beautiful as she once was. Anyway, my nan said a kiss would wake her."

"A kiss, eh?" Nathaniel raised a surprised eyebrow. "Well, that should be easy enough. The real problem will be to get in there."

"True." Carver suppressed a yawn. "Ah, well. Maybe we can come up with a plan tomorrow. Let's catch some sleep. Glad to have met you, Nathaniel."

"And you." He smiled back affectionately as he settled into his bedroll. "Good night."

It must have been around midnight when the noise woke him, a low humming, not unpleasant, but insistent. When he opened his eyes, it wasn't anywhere near dark enough for this time of the night. A warm glow, not at all like moonlight, permeated the little clearing they had made camp in, and it was coming from…

"Carver! Wake up!" He reached over to shake the other man, but Carver was already sitting up, his eyes wide with wonder.

Quickly, they got to their feet and rushed over to the hedge. The ruins were bathed in a soft golden light and, when Nathaniel gingerly touched a vine, he found it soft and slippery. No more thorns, no more unyielding branches.

"Come on. Let's go in." He felt almost giddy as he took Carver by the wrist and dragged him in behind him. "It's opening up."

"Nathaniel! Wait!" Carver stopped in his tracks, his expression stubborn as a mule's. "We can't both go in. That's not how this works."

"So, what do you propose instead?" Nathaniel shook his head impatiently. "Look, we don't even know what we'll find there. We'll be much safer together. Besides, aren't you curious?"

"Of course I am, but—" Carver sighed. "All right. Let's have a look."

The vines parted willingly before them, wilting away at a rather alarming rate. It was no trouble at all to reach the castle's courtyard. Instinctively, they both headed for the tallest tower. The gate opened without a squeak. Inside, it was deathly quiet. Dust had settled on the window sills and spiders had built their webs up in the corners. Not a single living soul was in sight.

"Up," Carver mouthed at him, and he nodded, taking the lead.

They found the princess in a small chamber at the top of the tower behind a gilded and decorated door. Her room was clean and tidy, almost as if time hadn't touched it at all. Nathaniel held his breath as he approached the prone figure on the big four-poster bed. Some part of him expected a shriveled corpse or some ghostly apparition. But she looked perfectly ordinary, a pretty, sleeping girl: her cheeks slightly flushed; her eyes firmly closed; her chest rising and falling in deep, relaxed breaths. She wasn't stunningly beautiful, but she did have a sweet face, with freckles on her nose and dimples in her cheeks.

Next to him, Carver inhaled sharply. "Maker's Mercy! It's really her."

They exchanged a quick glance, then Nathaniel raised a hand and carefully brushed a copper-gold strand of hair from her forehead. She didn't budge.

"A kiss," Nathaniel muttered, looking hesitantly at Carver. "Me or you?"

Carver bit his lip. "I don't know, really. She's probably meant for you. After all, you are the heir to your parents' kingdom, and you are far more dashing than I am." He blushed.

"You think?" Nathaniel fought back a grin, feeling secretly flattered. "But, on the other hand, I don't really need half of her kingdom. You're the younger son. You're the one who needs to make his fortune. Why don't you go first?"

Carver shook his head firmly. "No. You kiss her."

"All right, then." To his surprise, Nathaniel found he was trembling a little as he bent down and softly brushed his lips over hers.

Nothing happened.

"Maybe…" Carver was blushing again. "Maybe you need to kiss her harder."

"I can hardly ravish her in her sleep." Nathaniel hesitated, but then he repeated his efforts, pressing his lips firmly to hers.

Again, no response.

"You try it." He swallowed. It _was_ a little disappointing, but maybe Carver really was the chosen one.

Fighting back his jealousy, he watched as the younger man traced the princess's jaw with his fingers, then kissed her softly.

Still nothing happened.

"Damn it, what is this supposed to mean?" Nathaniel ran an impatient hand through his long dark hair. "It seems your nan got it wrong."

"Well, maybe—" Carver hesitated again.

"Maybe what?" Nathaniel paced the room, trying to work off some nervous energy.

"Maybe we both need to kiss her." Carver's blush was back in full force. "I mean, we were both here when the hedge opened, so maybe this means—"

He stopped right in front of Carver, raising a surprised eyebrow. "Really?"

Carver nodded shyly.

"Well, there's no harm in trying, I guess." Nathaniel shrugged.

They placed themselves on either side of her, eyes anxiously on her sleeping face.

"She's cute, isn't she?" Carver's voice was shaky.

Following an impulse, Nathaniel took his hand and squeezed it hard. "She is. Are you ready?"

At Carver's nod, they both moved in, touching their lips to the smooth velvet skin of her cheeks.

"Finally." With an exasperated sigh, the princess opened her large, green eyes and glanced from one prince to the other, her lips curving up in a wide cat-like smile. "Took you long enough to sort it out."


	8. Day 8 - Futuristic

**Day 8 - Futuristic**

_A/N: I really didn't want this to turn into a Mass Effect fic, so I decided to go for a nice, peaceful future where all the creature comforts are taken care of. Also, I figured it was time for some proper smut. This is pure PWP, in case you prefer to skip it._

_The bed their shenanigans take place in was inspired by the Cosmos Bed (google it for pics)._

* * *

Megan took Carver firmly between her lips, flicking her tongue against his hot, taut flesh. He moaned, gripping the bed's headboard to steady himself, accidentally hitting the switch that lit the lights in the canopy.

She giggled around him and, when he fumbled for the switch again, she pulled back to grin up at him. "Leave it. I've never done this under a starry sky before."

Carver rolled his eyes. "Well, if you're feeling romantic, how's this?" He stretched a little to reach a second panel. Within seconds, a sweet, slightly cheesy tune filled their ears. He cursed under his breath. "Wait a moment. There should be-" Right then, a low buzz sounded and he froze in motion. "Seems Nate has come home."

"Mmmhmmm." Megan bent down and licked another long stripe up his length. "I'm sure he'll love the view."

With a whooshing noise, the screen on the wall sprang to life and Nathaniel's familiar face appeared. "Hey. Have you started without me again?" His hoarse voice sounded gruff, but there was an unmistakable twinkle in his eyes.

"You were late." Megan pouted at the screen, then resumed what she'd been doing. Carver groaned helplessly.

Nathaniel echoed the sound, his eyes dark with desire. "I'll be with you in a minute. Just let me grab a quick shower on the way."

By the time he arrived, naked and still glistening with fine droplets of water, they had traded places. Megan was now propped up against the headboard and Carver was kneeling between her spread legs, lapping at her with abandon. She grinned up at Nathaniel and reached for the little pad that controlled the scent dispenser, adding a hint of that musky perfume she knew he loved. He smiled at her appreciatively, then turned his attention to Carver, running a firm hand down the younger man's bare back.

Carver arched into his touch, begging for more, and he seemed happy to oblige. Opening a small compartment next to him, he took out a small bottle and poured some on his fingers, then let his hand wander lower. Carver gasped, but he kept his focus on Megan, much to her delight. Yet, as Nathaniel kept up his caresses, Carver's attention noticeably faltered, until he sat up with a resigned sigh.

"Damn it, Nate. You are too distracting." He was panting, and his magnificent erection clearly illustrated the truth of his statement.

Nathaniel chuckled darkly, sending a rush of heat to Megan's stomach. She loved this side of him, the way he would tease them both to the point of torment. In utter fascination, she watched as he took hold of Carver and guided him between her spread legs, carefully aligning him before he pushed hard against his lower back. She cried out sharply when she felt Carver enter her, deep and hard. _So good._

Carver's eyes were closed and he was biting his lower lip in anticipation as Nathaniel moved in behind him, both hands gripping his hips firmly. Realizing what he was up to, Megan instinctively arched up, her body supporting Carver's while Nathaniel slowly pushed inside him. She couldn't get enough of watching Carver's face, almost envying him the intensity of this double stimulation.

She'd been trapped between the two of them in a similar position before, and it was a feeling she wouldn't trade for anything, despite the occasional discomfort. Their warmth surrounding her on all sides, their firm muscles holding her captive between them... She sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity that might be listening, for living in such enlightened times as this, when a relationship like theirs was a matter of course, accepted by their friends and neighbours, with not a single raised eyebrow in sight. For most of human history, she wouldn't have been so lucky.

Just then, Nathaniel pulled back and thrust hard, pushing Carver deeper inside her, and there was no way she could hold back her cry of pleasure. He quickly picked up speed and, for a moment, the rapt expression on Carver's face made her fear this was going to be over much too soon.

But then Nathaniel paused, hitting another button on the bed's control pad, and the mattress tilted slightly under her. Suddenly, the angle was almost unbearably perfect, and she felt her climax approaching in record time. She cried out again when it hit her and Carver faltered, going taut all over. Nathaniel must have been waiting for this moment. Swiftly, he pulled the other man back, embracing him tightly while he watched him come, all over Megan's stomach, jerking uncontrollably. It took only moments for Nathaniel to follow him after that, with a low strangled noise at the back of his throat.

Megan rolled her eyes at him as he pulled back. "Not that I'm complaining, but this is one hell of a mess!"

"Sounds like a complaint to me." Nathaniel grinned unabashedly, but he quickly grabbed a corner of the sheet to clean them up. The fabric was soft and silky on their skin, yet designed to dry off within seconds. And as soon as they got up, the sheets would automatically clean themselves anyway.

"Come." Carver was on his feet already, offering her his hand. "Let's head for the showers."

In passing, he quickly entered a sequence of numbers into the food replicator. "And then dinner. Steak pie tonight. Can't wait."

"Me neither." Nathaniel stretched and yawned. "Gods, I love coming home to the two of you."


	9. Day 9 - Aliens

**Day 9 – Aliens**

His father had warned him that this club was frequented by aliens. "Filthy abominations doing their best to look harmless." Rendon Howe hadn't become chairman of Earth Belongs to Humanity for his tolerant views. "Just you wait. Soon enough, they'll give up this pretence of peaceful _cohabitation_ and try to take our planet from us. It's only a matter of time."

Rendon would have thrown a fit if he'd seen his eldest son dancing with a beautiful alien girl. _If it even is a girl._ But it – no, _she_ - was beautiful, without any doubt. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off her since she'd joined him on the dance floor.

Just then, she flashed a smile at him, and he realized with a start that what he'd taken to be reddish hair were, in fact, hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny tentacles that kept rearranging themselves on her head in time to the music. He let his gaze wander lower, trying to assess which of the strange textures covering her lithe body were clothes and which were skin. It was hard to say. All of it was a swirling mix of bright orange and green hues, arranged in strangely hypnotic patterns. Her face looked mostly human, though her eyes were a little too large, her chin a little too pointy. Nathaniel swallowed. He wasn't sure whether he found her strangeness repulsive or arousing. Probably both.

His father wouldn't have hesitated. His hatred for everything extraterrestrial was legendary. Ever since the first aliens had made contact with humanity, about twenty years ago, he'd devoted all his energies to driving them off the planet again. No matter how polite they seemed, no matter how well they tried to fit in, Rendon Howe detested them all. Even the fact that most of them looked rather similar to humans was a red flag to him. In his eyes, they were mutated perversions of humanity, errors of God or nature, to be expurgated at all cost.

Nathaniel had grown up surrounded by an all-human staff, carefully shielded from any alien influence. He could name a few of the more common races of aliens but, as he looked around, he realized that lots more existed. Most of them looked considerably more exotic than the girl he was dancing with, with strangely formed skulls or oddly angled extremities.

He'd automatically returned her smile, flattered by her attention, and now she was moving closer to him, placing her hands on his shoulders, tilting her head back so he could admire her long, graceful neck. He was tempted to kiss it, to find out what she'd taste like; how that shimmering skin would feel under his lips. But he hesitated, recalling the stories his father had told him: of deadly contact poisons coating their scales; of invisible radiation that could alter his genetic material forever; of brainwaves that could kill and subvocal harmonies able to melt his bones. Were those all lies, designed to keep him away from this unearthly beauty? Or was there a grain of truth in his father's tales?

Something soft brushed teasingly against his cheek and he frowned. Both her hands were still firmly around his neck, so what—

He nearly froze in place when he saw the long tail twist up behind her back, its tufted end tilted at a rakish angle. All right. That was… different. But still kind of hot.

The dance ended and she turned to walk over to the bar, throwing him an inviting glance over her shoulder. Without thinking, he followed her but, as they sat down, two large, strong arms settled around her tiny frame from behind.

"Carver!" Her face lit up again in a bright smile and she greeted the man behind her with a kiss on the cheek.

If you could call him a man. Nathaniel dimly remembered having seen his kind before, in some of the vids his father would compile to show the dangers of alien infiltration. They'd been nicknamed "wardens" because, whenever a human mob would form, they tended to gather around other aliens, protecting them with their bulk. They tended to be tall and muscular with strange geometric patterns covering their bare arms and shoulders; the twisted horns on their heads and the bony ridges on their forehead giving them a fierce appearance. This one was no exception.

The look he gave Nathaniel was wary, and he addressed himself exclusively to the girl. "You look lovely tonight, Meg."

"Thank you!" The tentacles on her head danced merrily. "It's been a fun night so far." She winked at Nathaniel. "I've found a new dancing partner."

Nathaniel cleared his throat. "Meg. Is that your name?"

She made a curious little sound, flaring her nostrils. "Not really. But you probably wouldn't be able to pronounce it, so Meg will do. This is Carver. What's your name, stranger?"

"Nate." He hesitated briefly, but the name Howe wouldn't be welcome. "Just Nate."

"Hello, Nate." She leaned back into Carver's embrace, wiggling a little until she was comfortable. "Nice to meet you."

He nodded, still tongue-tied, afraid he'd give away who he was. To keep himself busy, he eyed the menu, relieved when he found a section devoted to human beverages. He figured he really couldn't go wrong with a glass of scotch. Meg had ordered a tall glass filled with a bluish liquid, while Carver was downing a jug of what looked suspiciously like root beer.

Nathaniel was still deliberating whether or not he should order a second whisky when Carver whispered something in Meg's ear and she looked up at him with a curious expression. "You want to leave already?"

Carver nodded, without saying a word. His hand was slowly trailing up and down her back. Nathaniel noticed her shudder when Carver touched a particular spot on her spine. Suddenly, his head was filled with strangely enticing images, explicit enough to make his cheeks heat up. He'd never considered sex with an alien before, but the way she was writhing on the chair, her eyes half-closed with pleasure, sent hot sparks of _want_ down to his crotch. God, his father would kill him if he-

He got up from his chair, preparing to leave, but she stopped him by placing a tiny, six-fingered hand on his wrist. "Want to join us?"

"Join you?" Nathaniel realized he was gaping when he heard Carver's amused snort. "But-"

There was that smile again, warm and full of promise. "Come on. We can… dance some more."

Nathaniel swallowed again. His father would definitely kill him. But, when they left, he followed them, unable to stop himself.


	10. Day 10 - Parody of another Fandom BtVS

**Day 10 – Parody of another Fandom (Buffy)**

_A/N: Okay, so I freely admit I'm not happy with this one - especially with the parody aspect. I guess I should have given up and gone for a straight crossover, because I'm not sure this is even remotely funny. *sigh* But at least I tried._

* * *

"Bloody hell, I'm going to puke if I have to watch them a moment longer," Spoon muttered under his breath. A bloke could get a toothache just from looking at the two of them, all lovey-dovey and moon-eyed. He lit a fag, careful to shield the light from view with his hand. His sire might have taken leave of most of his senses when he'd got his precious soul back, but Arch still had pretty good eyesight.

Dear old Archie! He mentally rolled his eyes at the name Nate went by nowadays. There had been times when the moniker 'Archdemon' had struck terror into the hearts of mortals, when Arch had been a vicious killer, ruthless and cold, not the brooding, mopey mess he was nowadays. Soulful indeed!

How they had torn through Europe: Arch; Spoon; and their lovely ladies, mad Merrill and Isabella! What a grand time it had been! No virgin had been safe from them, had they been male or female. And the parties they'd had, with rivers of blood, fresh from the throat, mixed with heavy red wine… Spoon sighed wistfully. His own nickname, acquired through his notorious habit of torturing victims by cutting their hearts out with a silver spoon, still carried a certain reputation. But Arch was nothing but a slayer's pet nowadays.

Just then, she laughed out loud, throwing back her head and baring her throat, white and perfect in the moonlight. Spoon growled and instinctively slipped into his game face. To dig his teeth into that smooth, silky skin, to suck her, drain her - he'd had slayers before, and the taste wasn't something he'd ever be able to forget, sweet and heady and... With a flash of disgust, he realized he was more than half hard in his tight black jeans.

Sure, it was more than normal for a vamp to get turned on by a sight like this. The slayer was wearing her usual skimpy top and an extra short skirt. He could practically see her knickers from over here. Hell, he'd bet his sire was just as hot for her right now. _Aren't you, mate?_ How Arch withstood the temptation to bite her or shag her, or both, right up against the wall of the club, was beyond him. Especially since the two of them were supposed to be _so much in love_.

But really, he couldn't quite fathom his own reaction. Getting aroused by the sight of _her_? Of Midget Winters? It was embarrassing to be turned on by a boring little do-gooder like her. Besides, he didn't even like red-heads. And what kind of name was _Midget_ anyway? All right, so no one got a say in choosing their name. He certainly wouldn't have picked _Carver_, but apparently his mom had insisted on it. But why didn't the slayer at least get herself a cool pseud, like he had done?

A few deep breaths filled his lungs with smoke, calming and relaxing him. Really, not needing to breathe was all well and good, but how was a chap supposed to look cool without a fag? And looking cool was vital, or rather _lethal_, in his line of business. The black leather duster certainly helped, as did the scars and the spiky hair, but the smoking was the final touch. It had taken him months of practice, hidden away down in his crypt until he'd gotten it quite right.

Just then, the door of the club opened and the noise of new arrivals drowned out his exasperated sigh. Her gang! The Slayerettes, as he called them in his head. The geeky computer girl, what was she called… Velanna, Willanna? And the short, red-haired twit with the horrible taste in shirts. It wouldn't do to underestimate them, though. More than once they'd thwarted his cunning plans for world domination. Well, not so much world domination. These days, he'd be happy enough with ruling Sunnykeep, their boring little hometown.

But this time they wouldn't get in his way. A smirk spread across his face. This time, he had a plan that wouldn't fail. Just a few more hours, and he'd be ready to strike.

They were saying their goodbyes now, and Arch and the slayer headed over to the cemetery for a late-night patrol.

"Bugger," Spoon cursed under his breath. He'd hoped they'd head straight home for a cuppa and some chaste cuddling. But no, the daft ponce had to help her save the world again.

He didn't mind her staking other vamps – less competition that way. But tonight, he didn't want her anywhere near his crypt. Tonight was the big night. He had to distract them before-

A quick sprint through a back alley took him straight into their path. "Arch." He mentally congratulated himself on the lazy drawl he'd perfected during his time in Louisiana with Merrill, back in the Nineties. The local vampires had been a crazy bunch, with all their talk of _sheriffs_ and _kings_, but he'd rather liked the iced tea and the burgers.

"You might want to check out the lower end of the cemetery first, mate." He lit another fag, doing his best to look nonchalant. "Think I saw a fresh grave over there."

The slayer shot him a suspicious glance. "Spoon. What's up with you being all helpful?" She turned to face her companion. "All right. Let's check out the upper end."

_Bollocks_! He should have known Ginger would see right through him. His mind was racing. "Ah, you might want to avoid the upper end. Might ruin your fancy boots. I'm just sayin'…"

"And why would I ruin my boots up there?" She was looking at him, her green eyes narrowed with distrust, while reaching for her stake.

"Might be 'spawn up there," he mumbled, avoiding Arch's gaze.

"What?" She sounded pissed. Well, he couldn't blame her. Nasty little buggers.

"God, Spoon." Arch rolled his eyes incredulously. "Please don't tell me you've done it again. You really should know better after what happened in Budapest."

"Oh, come on, it was fun!" He grinned up at his sire, unable to resist the temptation to bask in the old memories. "Remember when you and Bella skidded down the stairs and-"

"Shut up." Arch looked clearly embarrassed. Or maybe just more constipated than usual. "Where?"

"My crypt, back entrance," he shouted after them, then settled peacefully on a gravestone, inhaling smoke with relish. Ah, well. World domination postponed again. At least he could enjoy the show.


	11. Day 11 – Slice of Life

**Day 11 – Slice of Life**

_A/N: This is not an AU, really – this scene could fit in anywhere in my storyverse. Thanks to yarnandtea for suggesting grocery shopping for this day's challenge – I had a lot of fun imagining Megan faced with such a mundane task._

* * *

Megan frowned down at the grocery list Mistress Woolsey had pressed into her hand when she'd announced they were off to Denerim. She had tried to explain that they wouldn't have time for this, that they were on a vitally important mission, but the old lady had remained firm.

"It's just as vital that you keep your Wardens well fed, Commander. It's not every day that I get an opportunity to get provisions from the capital. With the amount of food you all devour each day, I have a hard time keeping up with the shopping as it is, and right now we're almost out of herbs and spices. Soap, too, and a few other luxuries, while you're at it. I need your help."

So, here she was, at the busy market place in the late afternoon, having dispatched a Pride Demon in someone's basement in the morning and met with the King and Queen for lunch. _Let it never be said that a Warden's life lacks variety. _

Megan sighed and did her best to decipher Mistress Woolsey's spidery handwriting. Scallops? No, soap. Where would she find soap? Helplessly, she eyed the displays of the various stalls, trying to find something that looked like toiletries, but without success. _What's next?_ Vanilla, pepper, nutmeg. Well, that was easy enough. She found the appropriate stall and the owner was friendly and helpful.

But, when she turned, stowing her newly acquired goods away in her satchel, she ran straight into a firm, warm body. _Carver_. She'd sent her Wardens to the Gnawed Noble to grab something to eat while she was at the palace, so she really shouldn't be surprised to see him. But even so, she felt a pleased tingle run down her spine.

"Meg?" He dragged her away from the stall. "Don't tell me you really just paid five sovereigns for a few spices?"

"That's what he asked for," she defended herself, blushing slightly.

"Well, yeah, of course he did." Carver shook his head. "And it didn't occur to you to barter a bit? What's the matter with you? Would you have paid the set price for a new piece of armour or a dagger?"

"No, of course not." Megan's blush deepened, but she raised her chin in defiance. "Blight it, Carver, what do you expect? I don't have the faintest idea what a reasonable price for this stuff would be."

"Have you never been grocery shopping before?" He sounded incredulous.

"Well, no." Megan avoided his gaze. "Alistair always took care of that during the Blight, and before-"

"Andraste's tits, of course you haven't." He rolled his eyes. "I bet you had servants for this, am I right? Come on." He took her arm and led her to the next stall, shoving a group of loitering ruffians roughly aside. "Let's see what you need."

Megan breathed a sigh of relief. Suddenly, things were looking much easier. Carver quickly found an elven trader who sold the most deliciously aromatic herbal soap, and he got it for half the original price. She watched in wonder as he made his way across the market, stopping here and there to take a look at the wares on display or to exchange a bawdy joke with a stall owner. He seemed so _different_ here.

"Hey. I see Carver found you first." A pair of strong arms embraced her from behind and Nathaniel's familiar scent enveloped her: leather and beeswax, and just a hint of wood smoke. "Everything all right?"

"Nate. It is, now." She gestured at Carver who was carefully picking apricots from a basket, examining every single one with a worried frown. "Thank the Maker for Carver. This would have taken me hours all by myself."

Nathaniel pulled her closer with a low chuckle. "He's really in his element, isn't he? It's rare to see him so much at ease. Well, except in battle, but that's different, obviously."

Megan smiled. "It's amazing. He looks so... competent. So sure of himself. It's sweet, really. And also…" She exhaled sharply. "Quite incredibly hot."

"Oh yes." Nathaniel's grip tightened even further. "Are you two nearly finished?"

"I believe so." Megan glanced into her well-filled basket. "Looks like we have almost all we need."

"Good." Nathaniel's voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I can't wait until we get to our room." His lips brushed against her ear as he proceeded to tell her exactly what he was planning on doing to Carver once they got there.

"Oh Maker, yes." Megan shivered deliciously. "It's a good thing our inn is right here in the Market District, or else I might end up jumping his bones in some back alley."

Carver looked up and smiled when he saw them together. "Nate. We're almost done. Just a few buttons and ribbons, but we can pick those up on the way home." He reached up to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. "What? Why are the two of you looking at me like that?"


	12. Day 12 -Deserted Island

**Day 12 -Deserted Island**

"God, Nate, I had no idea! You've always been like a big brother to me." Megan sounded genuinely shocked and he couldn't blame her.

Of course he had. And he could have kicked himself for bringing this up. What on Earth had possessed him to confess his love to her now? This was neither the time nor the place: not with her boyfriend injured and asleep in the shelter nearby; not when all three of them were stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere, their boat too damaged by the sudden storm to attempt the journey back home.

But he hadn't been able to stop himself. It must have been the sight of her, her hair gleaming like copper in the dim light of the driftwood fire, her green eyes wide and dreamy. Or, maybe it had been the thought that she would leave with Carver after the holidays and he would never have a chance to tell her how he felt. But, yeah, it had been stupid. Stupid and pointless.

He was so busy wallowing in self-recrimination that he was hardly listening to her, but her next words tore him out of his thoughts. "If I'd known… I was so in love with you back then, but I'd thought you weren't interested."

"You were only sixteen," he reminded her, still struggling to process her words.

She shrugged. "Old enough to dream of you. But Fergus said…" She caught his gaze. "He said you weren't interested in girls."

_Damn it, Fergus, you blasted idiot!_ Nathaniel inhaled sharply. "Not _only_ in girls," he amended.

"Oh." Megan's eyes widened.

"It doesn't matter." He busied himself pushing a stray log back into the fire. "You're with Carver now and-"

"It matters to me." Suddenly, her hand was on his wrist. Such a simple touch, but it sent sparks all along his skin.

"Meg." He swallowed. "I'm sorry I-"

"Don't be." Before he knew it, she was in his arms, her lips meeting his, eager and sweet, and he couldn't stop himself from kissing her back.

"Well, that certainly makes for an interesting situation." The sound of Carver's deep voice tore them apart. "I guess we need to talk."

For a long minute they were both silent, too stunned to speak. Nathaniel's mind was racing as he tried to assess the situation. _It could be worse,_ _though not by much._ The shipwreck wasn't really a problem. If all went well, they would probably be home safe and sound in less than a day. The Couslands would send out search parties and, in the meantime, they had fresh water, blankets, and provisions from the boat's emergency stash. No big deal, really.

On the other hand, here they were, stuck on this island together for the whole night; just the three of them, because Fergus had pulled out at the last minute, claiming his pregnant wife needed him. Nathaniel snorted. Oriana had his friend well and truly whipped, no doubt about it. He should have stayed, too, left the two lovebirds alone, and it would never have come to this. But Megan had begged him to come. "Oh please, Nate. It will be just like the old days. And, we need you. Carver has no clue about sailing."

Just like the old days indeed. For as long as he could remember, he'd spent the week after Christmas on the Couslands' private island off the coast of Australia. He had a standing invitation, one of the perks of being friends with the super-rich. Not that his own parents were precisely poor, but the Couslands were in a league of their own. Anyway, he'd always looked forward to his time here, a week without cares and worries, just him and Fergus hanging out and, more often than not, Megan tagging along behind them.

He'd missed her when she hadn't shown up for the last two years. She'd chosen to spend the time with her aunt in Paris instead, claiming that the trip back home from Oxford was too stressful. This year she'd come back, but not alone. When she'd introduced her boyfriend, it had been like a stab in his guts. Carver Hawke was from a good family, a successful sportsman and independently rich, despite his youth, thanks to a substantial inheritance. He was also tall, dark, and muscular - damnably attractive, really.

If Megan had to choose-

"So, this is the part where we get all melodramatic and the two of you tell me I have to choose." Megan's voice seemed to echo his thoughts.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Carver beat him to it. "That depends."

Megan raised a surprised eyebrow. "Explain."

Carver shrugged, surprisingly gracefully for someone his size. "The way I see it, there's no need to get all worked up. You know how I feel about you, and it seems I'm not the only one. I don't want to lose you. I won't force you to decide."

"You mean you'd… share?" Megan's eyes were as round as saucers.

"Not the way I would put it." Nathaniel plucked up all his courage and met Carver's gaze. Yes, he hadn't been mistaken. There was more than a little interest in those warm brown eyes.

Their corners were wrinkled with humor now. "It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, Meg."

"You mean- oh. Oh!" Megan's tongue darted out to lick her lips. "So, that's the way it is?"

"If you want it to be." Nathaniel's throat felt far too tight. "Do you?"

She still had her arm around his neck. Now, she motioned for Carver to come closer, frowning when she saw his slight limp. "Are you okay?"

"Never been better." Carver's hands settled possessively on her hips and he bent down to brush his lips along her throat, making her shiver.

Nathaniel closed his eyes, momentarily overcome by a rush of feelings. A hint of jealousy again, but also arousal, sharp and heady, and something else he couldn't quite define: doubt and fear and something perilously close to despair at the thought of messing this up. _Can we really make this work?_ What would happen once they were back with the others? What would Megan's parents say? How would Fergus react if he found out about this?

"Nate?" Megan's hand trailed slowly down his chest, brushing against a nipple through the thin linen of his shirt.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to throw his scruples to the wind. Maybe they'd change their minds later. But he'd be damned if he didn't take what was offered now. Even if he had no clue how to proceed from here.

In the end, it was surprisingly easy. He'd worried about the mechanics of the whole thing, who would do what to whom. But they managed to sort it out with a minimum of awkwardness, thanks mostly to Carver who was… amazing, all raw need and instinct and hunger, and also quite obviously a whole lot more experienced than Nathaniel had expected. They ended up in a wonderful tangle of limbs and bodies, hot lips pressed to salty skin, tongues and teeth tracing hard muscle and soft curves, nothing but heat and glorious breathless ecstasy.

They fell asleep together afterwards, right there on the beach. When the brisk cold of the hour before dawn awakened them, they stumbled back to the shelter and shared the warmth of the few blankets until the first rays of sun brought back the heat of summer. Later, they bathed together, naked in the surf, and then made love again, laughing when they bumped into each other, then gasping and shuddering as their bodies joined.

The search party arrived at noon, led by a very worried Fergus who glanced suspiciously at their happy, glowing faces. Megan embraced her brother with a cheerful smile and took his arm to lead the way back to the boat, turning back to wink at both of them. "Let's head home, guys. That was quite the adventure."


	13. Day 13 - Detective

**Day 13 – Detective**

The moment she walked through the door, Nate knew this was going to be trouble. He also knew he wasn't going to say no, no matter what she asked him to do. He had never been able to deny her anything.

Margo was just as beautiful as he remembered her. _And probably just as ruthless_. He had few illusions about her, and fewer still about his feelings for her. No matter how many times she'd set out to ruin his life, he would always fall for it because there was no way he could resist her charm.

Carver seemed to be doing well for himself, judging from the expensive suit she wore; she had a fur collar too, and a pretty little hat. Her face was immaculately made up, long lashes emphasizing her large green eyes. She sat down in his visitor's chair, crossing her legs and lighting a cigarette. Her hands weren't shaking, but he noticed the way she quickly bit her lower lip. Anyone else would have missed it, but he knew her. She was nervous all right.

"Nate. I need your help." She didn't bother with preliminaries, and he was glad. Why else would she have turned up here? She'd made her choice, three years ago, and she'd never looked back.

He nodded, gesturing for her to talk with his right hand while he poured himself a tumbler of whiskey with his left. She eyed the bottle and his crinkled old suit with obvious disapproval, but refrained from commenting.

"I've been getting letters. The nasty kind. About that business in Chicago, five years ago." She did her best to sound bored and indifferent, but he could hear the fear in her voice as she tossed a bundle of envelopes on his desk. "It must be one of Spade's men. No one else knows."

He leaned back in his chair and took a sip from his glass, flinching at the taste. It had been some time since he'd been able to afford the good stuff. "Why don't you ask your husband for help?"

"Don't be stupid, Nate." Her tone was unexpectedly sharp. "You know very well Carver can't get involved in stuff like this. I wouldn't ask you either if you were still on the force."

"And we all know why I left." He drained his glass, placing it on the desk with an abruptness that made her start.

She regained her composure quickly though and shot him a dark look. "You could have stayed. Carver keeps saying he misses having you around."

_Carver._ His old partner, his most trusted friend. They had been the best team on the force, closer than brothers. And then _she_ had come along and he'd fallen for her like a ton of bricks. His gaze dropped to her high-heeled shoes and he remembered…

_Margo, walking into his shabby hotel room, kicking off her shoes and sighing with relief when they came off. The way the red dress hugged her curves, stretched tight over her hips; the hint of a garter visible through the shiny fabric. Her scent as he buried his face in her hair, so different from the cheap perfumes the other dames favoured, driving him crazy as only she could._

For a few blissful months he'd actually believed they had a future. Until he'd introduced her to Carver. And hadn't _that_ been a success.

He almost snorted aloud. "What do you want me to do?"

"Find the guy. Get rid of him." She exhaled a cloud of smoke that momentarily hid her face. "By any means necessary."

"I'm a private eye, not a paid killer." He got up and walked over to the door, opening it for her. "But I'll see what I can do."

"I know you will." Her face softened as she walked toward him. "Thanks, Nate."

He brushed her gratitude aside with a quick wave of his hand. "I'm doing it for Carver. The scandal would ruin his career."

"It probably would, at that." She briefly stopped, right in front of him, and raised a hand to trail it along his jaw, smiling when he flinched away from her touch. "But we both know that's not the real reason."

He didn't answer and she shook her head, laughing softly. "I'll be back."


	14. Day 14 – Allegiance Swap

**Day 14 – Allegiance Swap**

_A/N: My first impulse for this was to turn the Wardens into darkspawn but, while I believe Carver would make an adorable Hurlock, the potential for witty dialogue is rather limited in that scenario. So, I ended up with imagining them on Rendon Howe's side during the Blight. Have fun with evil Megan!_

* * *

Rendon Howe walked into the Great Hall at Highever with a big smile on his gaunt face, extending his arms in a fatherly gesture. Megan beamed back at her father-in-law, going up on tip toes to kiss his cheek. "Dearest Papa! How kind of you to stop by."

"Megan. You look lovely as ever. But, tell me, has Maric's bastard been taken care of?" His hand brushed against her breast as if by accident, but she wasn't fooled. Arl Rendon always managed to cop a feel when she got close to him.

Megan hid her revulsion at his touch with the ease of long practice. "Of course, Papa. He's awaiting his execution down in the dungeon. I don't think anyone will miss him but, just in case, I had a few of my men spread the tale that he's left for the Free Marches to make his fortune there."

"Well done," the arl chuckled. "I really don't know what I'd do without you, my little spitfire."

Megan favoured him with her most dazzling smile. _You'd be busy digging your own grave, you senile idiot._ Really, without her help he'd never have managed to take control of Highever. Knowing him, he'd probably have attacked with an army, when there were so many… subtler ways of achieving what they wanted.

It had been so easy. Her parents had been overjoyed when Nathaniel had asked for her hand in marriage. She'd pretended to be bashful, overwhelmed by his attention. Megan's lips turned up in a contemptuous smirk at the memory. They'd been so utterly clueless. Not even in their wildest dreams would they have imagined that their sweet little daughter had been fucking Nathaniel for months.

"Father. I didn't expect to see you here tonight." And here he was, her husband, embracing the old arl with such fervour that Megan flinched internally. She'd have to talk to Nathaniel later tonight, tell him to tune it down a little. Even Rendon wasn't that gullible. Or, maybe he was.

He slapped his eldest son heartily on the shoulder. "Nate. You're looking well. But, when will you give me my first grandson, boy? It's about time."

_Not if I have a say in it._ Megan had no interest in becoming a mother any time soon. Right now, she wanted to enjoy the attentions of all the men at court, all the pleasantries due to a woman of her beauty and status. Any day now, Loghain would confirm her as Teyrna. She'd already begun to seed the rumour that Oriana's ship had sunk and, with a little luck, they'd have confirmation soon. And then no one would stand in her way. Not a single soul had even _suspected_ foul play…

After her wedding, she had taken off on a long honeymoon with her new husband to make sure she was well removed from suspicion. No need to get her own hands dirty when she could trust Carver to administer the poison to their drinks. When she'd been called home, she'd played the part of the grief-stricken, orphaned young lady to perfection. To lose both parents in one fell swoop, due to some mysterious illness – it had been a tragedy to touch the most hardened heart.

And then, cruel fate had struck again only two months later, with the unexpected death of her elder brother Fergus who had been away on a charge against the rebellious Chasind barbarians. Such a dangerous mission, really. His young widow had been inconsolable and had left for her native Antiva as soon as she could, taking her son with her for an extended visit with his grandparents.

In the heir's absence, Megan had been the only member of her family remaining at Highever. Carver had been rewarded with a promotion to Guard Captain as soon as she had taken the reins. And hadn't he proven even more useful ever since?

She returned her attention to the present. Nathaniel had offered his father a goblet of strong red wine and was ushering him toward the large armchair near the fire, no doubt hoping the old man would soon doze off in the cosy warmth. But no, he looked pretty perky tonight. Megan cursed under her breath. Ah, well. Maybe she could wheedle a little extra allowance out of him. A few adoring glances and a little flattery usually did the trick.

"You know, Papa, Habren Bryland has been such a pain lately, claiming that her father is the only one in Ferelden who can afford proper Orlesian silk." Gracefully, she sank to her knees next to him, placing her hand on his velvet-clad thigh. "Of course, I set her right immediately. It's well-known that the Brylands can't hold a candle to the Howes."

"True, true," he chuckled, his gaze diving into her generous cleavage. "And you shall have the finest dress in the capital, my pet, made from silk brocade, no less. I'll have my tailor come over tomorrow, don't you worry."

Megan fluttered her eyelids at him. "Oh, really, you don't have to-"

"Lady Howe?" Carver's voice was a welcome relief. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Captain Hawke." She got to her feet, pursing her lips in disapproval. "Can't this wait till morning?"

"I'm afraid not, my lady." Carver's expression was the perfect blend of servility and competence. "It's about the prisoner."

"Oh, all right. Excuse me, please, Papa." She smiled apologetically at the arl and followed Carver out through the door and into Nathaniel's study.

As soon as the door fell shut, his arms were around her, pinning her to the wall, his breath hot on her neck. "Megan. Andraste's tits, how do you stand the old creep?"

"By thinking of more agreeable pursuits?" She moaned when he bit down hard on her naked shoulder. "Careful! You can't leave a mark where he'll see it."

"I'm sorry." Carver didn't sound particularly repentant.

"So, is there really something you wanted to discuss about Alistair or was that just an excuse to get me to join you here?" Megan let her hand wander down to his waist, toying with the fastenings of his armour.

"The bastard is fine." Carver shrugged. "Put up quite a fight, though. You should have warned me that he'd had templar training."

"I didn't think that would be a problem for you," she purred, quickly working the leather straps loose. "But I figure you deserve a reward for your bravery."

The chainmail coat came off and she quickly dealt with his leather pants, sliding her hand inside the garment to find him hard and ready. He groaned at her touch and she quickly manoeuvred him around so his back was to the wall, then got down on her knees.

"Megan." He dragged off his gauntlets, burying his fingers in her hair as she freed his cock from its confinement and took him between her lips. "Maker!"

He would mess up her carefully braided bun but, right now, Megan didn't care. She loved everything about this: the taste and weight of him on her tongue; the way his thighs trembled under her touch and his eyes rolled back as she began to suck; the incoherent curses tumbling from his lips. When she took him in deep, his grip became almost painful, but all she felt was jubilant triumph at having him so completely at her mercy. Such a big, strong warrior, and he was putty in her hands. Just like her own husband. Men were so easy to manipulate.

One day, she would make Nathaniel watch as she let Carver take her. Closing her eyes, she pictured his face, torn between jealousy and arousal, and it was enough to make her almost faint with pleasure. Right now, though… She redoubled her efforts and was rewarded with a final groan from Carver, a shudder racking his powerful body as he came hard, spilling in her mouth, his hand tight on the back of her head.

Megan left him in the study after a perfunctory kiss and quickly snuck off to her own room to fix her hair. She was almost finished, carefully tucking in the last pin, when Iona, her lady-in-waiting, knocked discreetly on the door.

"What is it?" Megan inspected her shoulder with a critical frown. There _was_ a faint bite mark. Quickly she reached for her powder jar.

"It's the Antivan, my'lady." Iona glanced at her in the mirror as she took the powder puff from her hands and began to cover up the bruise. "What shall I tell him?"

"Tell him to wait in the blue room. I'll be with him shortly." Megan rose to go, straightening her skirt, not bothering to hide her pleased anticipation at the thought of meeting with the assassin. _Bye bye, dearest Papa_.


	15. Day 15 - Gender Swap

**Day 15 - Gender Swap**

Carver sagged with relief as the front gate closed behind them. It was nearing midnight, and he was glad to be back from their patrol. They'd been gone a full three days longer than planned and he longed for a hot bath and a proper bed. Velanna disappeared in the direction of her room without a word, giving him the briefest of nods. She was obviously feeling much the same, and he couldn't blame her.

It still made him cringe with embarrassment that they had lost their way down in the Deep Roads. They'd pursued a horde of darkspawn down an unfamiliar set of tunnels, too caught up in the heat of the chase to get their bearings. Liam and Karen, the other two members of their party, were still far too new to the Wardens to be of much help and, without any dwarves around, it had been a challenge to find a way out.

Fortunately, they had finally stumbled upon a familiar tunnel, and now they were safely back. Such a pity that they were too late for the start of the Satinalia celebrations though! It had always been Carver's favourite festival, ever since he was a little kid. He loved the pranks and the spirit of irreverence during those few days. Back in Lothering, it had been one of the few diversions for the simple peasants. He remembered it so well: fun and laughter and masks; the village fool being crowned king for the day; the mayor forced to smile through ribald jokes at his expense; pretty young girls dancing in the streets.

With a yawn, he emerged from the baths and headed for their chambers, drying his back perfunctorily with a rough towel. The bedroom was nearly dark, lit only by the dying embers of the fire. He walked on tip toes over to the big four-poster where Megan and Nathaniel were already curled up together.

As he crept under the covers, Nathaniel didn't budge, but Megan blinked and smiled sleepily at him. "Carver. Welcome back. I was a little worried."

"No need." He kissed her. "We're all safe and sound. Sleep now."

She yawned heartily and closed her eyes, snuggling up in the nook of his arm. "You missed quite the party tonight. Anders' cookies were divine."

"Anders made cookies?" Even through the sleepy haze settling on him, Carver felt a tinge of unease, but Megan seemed unperturbed.

"Mmmhmmm. Old Tower recipe, he said." Her voice was getting drowsy. "Special Satinalia spices and all that. Delicious."

He smiled when she dozed off and held her more tightly. It was good to be home.

* * *

He woke when the first ray of sun tickled his nose, feeling wonderfully relaxed and cosy. He was sandwiched between two warm bodies, one hard and sinewy, the other one curvy and soft. Smiling to himself without opening his eyes, he turned on his side to spoon the latter, cupping a firm breast in his hand, grunting contentedly when he felt the nipple harden under his touch. He shuffled closer, wrinkling his nose when her long hair tickled him. Reaching up to brush it aside, he squinted a little to see what he was doing – and froze in mid-motion.

The mane of hair tumbling down her back was black, silky, and shining like a raven's wing. The woman next to him was definitely _not_ Megan. But, who-

She turned in his arms to face him, her face still scrunched up from sleep and he recoiled, muffling his scream with the back of his hand — because the woman in his bed, dark and beautiful and long-legged, was quite unmistakably… Nathaniel! Even as his mind screamed at him that this didn't make sense, he knew with absolute certainty that this was the man he loved, the man who'd shared his bed – and Megan's – for months now, who had made love to him more often than he could count.

True, his face looked… different: softer; the characteristic nose a little less hawk-like and more delicate; the cheeks soft and free of stubble. But, everything else… the shape of the eyes, the line of the cheekbones, the expression on the sleeping face – all that was unmistakably Nathaniel.

Carver held his breath but, before he had quite worked out what to do, someone stirred behind him and he had to stifle another scream as he turned around. _Megan!_

She looked good as a guy, there was no denying it. Rather small and wiry, but well-proportioned, with a flat, hard chest and slim hips and… His eyes wandered deeper and he swallowed hard. She was staring at him, wide-eyed, then followed his gaze down to her crotch and gave a small squeak.

"Andraste's hairy-" She ran her hands down her body, along the unfamiliar lines of her ribs and belly, down between her legs, her face pale under the freckles. "What in the Maker's name is this?"

Despite his own concern, he couldn't help but laugh. "I should think you'd be quite familiar with what it is."

Megan threw him a dark look. "I know what it is, thank you. I just don't see how-" Her eyes fell on Nathaniel. "Sweet Maker, not him, too."

"I'm afraid so." Carver bit back a hysterical laugh.

Just then, Nathaniel yawned and stretched, and he couldn't keep his eyes off those perfect, round breasts as they moved upward. _Shit! _He couldn't possibly be aroused by this, could he?

Megan jumped from the bed, reaching for a shirt and pants, surreptitiously glancing the same way. "We need to figure out what's going on here."

Nathaniel opened his eyes, then stilled, going through much the same motions as Megan had earlier; his expression vacillating between horror and wonder. It was almost funny, yet Carver sent a silent prayer of thanks to the skies that he himself wasn't afflicted by the same mysterious condition.

And why was that? His eyes narrowed. Whatever the reason for their _change_, it had to have happened while he was away. _Probably not so mysterious after all._

Ignoring Nathaniel's almost hysterical questions, he turned to face Megan. "I think you should find Anders."

"Why?" She shot him a puzzled look, rubbing the downy fluff on her cheek with a moue of distaste. "What does he-"

"The cookies." Nathaniel was quicker on the uptake.

Carver nodded, trying to ignore the way Nathaniel's voice had changed, still hoarse and smoky, but nowhere near as deep as it had been. "I think you should have a word with him."

"I certainly will." Megan's boyish face was grimly determined. "He owes us an explanation. Are you coming with me?"

"I'm not leaving the room." Nathaniel was blushing to the roots of his hair as he indicated his body. "The fewer people who see me like this, the better."

Megan shrugged. "All right. Carver?"

They didn't have to look far. Down in the Great Hall, a tall, beautiful woman was daintily eating her breakfast from a tray. The dress suited Anders well, hugging his newly-acquainted curves in a rather enticing way, Carver thought guiltily. His red-golden hair framed a sweet face with a smiling mouth and large, amber-brown eyes with silky, golden lashes.

He seemed wholly unconcerned by the whole thing, beaming at Megan as she walked in. "Commander! I always thought you'd make a very pretty boy, and it seems I was not mistaken."

Megan obviously had a hard time restraining herself. "It was you, wasn't it? The cookies."

Anders grinned and stretched voluptuously, displaying full, heavy breasts. "Sure. One of the most popular pranks in the Tower, you know. Makes for quite a lot of… special fun during the holiday."

It took a moment for Megan to recover sufficiently from this to answer and, when she did open her mouth to speak, she immediately fell silent again, struck dumb by the arrival of a stunningly lovely elven girl with long golden hair and an all-too familiar facial tattoo.

"Zevran." Megan swallowed hard, and Carver couldn't blame her.

The assassin was wearing nothing but an oversized white shirt, belted tightly at the waist with a leather strap, and he looked… positively edible. Long, graceful legs, perfect shapely curves, smooth caramel skin, and, Maker, those full, kissable lips! Carver had to close his eyes to contain the feelings that suddenly assailed him, and he could tell from Megan's tense posture that she wasn't unaffected either.

Zevran smiled broadly, fully conscious of the effect he was having on them. "Ah, _cara_. You look very tempting, I have to say." He flashed a hot gaze at them from under his long lashes. "This… prank is really most intriguing. I can't wait to try out my new equipment."

Megan stared at him for a long minute, then she threw back her head and laughed out loud. "Oh Maker, yes. That would be the first thing on _your_ mind."

Anders grinned. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it, Commander." His voice dropped, taking on a decidedly seductive purr. "I'd volunteer for any experiments you might consider, and I'm sure so would Zev."

"Without a doubt." Megan's tone was dry. "I do appreciate your offer, but I think I'll have to decline. How can this be reversed, Anders?"

Her voice had hardened on her last words, and Carver smiled to himself. _Just like Megan._ She might play along for a laugh, but she would make sure they knew who was in charge.

Anders cleared his throat. "There's no way to reverse it, Commander." He raised a hand to pre-empt Megan's angry outburst. "It's a timed spell. It will wear off after a full day has passed."

"When exactly?" Megan's eyes were narrowed and her voice was pure steel now.

"At midnight." Fine pearls of sweat were appearing on Anders' forehead.

Megan didn't answer straight away, then she nodded slowly. "At midnight." Her face was inscrutable as she faced Anders. "Let all my Wardens know that they are free to stay in their rooms today. The servants can bring them trays of food." Her eyes widened as a thought occurred to her. "You didn't give any to the servants, did you?"

Anders shook his head, and she exhaled sharply. "Good. Anyway, I don't want anyone to feel they have to-"

"Commander?" Velanna's incredulous tone made Megan flinch. "Is that you? And… Anders?"

"You explain." Megan's lips were twitching slightly as she spun on her heel to go, motioning for Carver to follow him. "We shall be upstairs for the remainder of the day."

Nathaniel was pacing the length of the room when they came back. He had thrown on a shirt too, but it left his long legs bare and kept sliding down over one shoulder. _If anything, it makes him look even more attractive. _Carver was struggling to hide his confusion.

"Meg. Please tell me there's a way to turn us back." The look Nathaniel gave them was almost pleading. "This is driving me crazy."

"Calm down." Megan stopped him in his tracks with a hand on his arm. "It will wear off at midnight. And in the meantime, it's kind of… interesting."

"Interesting!" Nathaniel shook himself. "It's easy for you to say. _You_ look good."

"You think?" Megan struck a pose, smiling naughtily. "Yeah, I do think I'm rather dashing. Though I really don't know how you cope with this… thing." She glanced down at her crotch with a grimace. "It keeps getting in the way when I walk."

Carver bit back a grin. "I guess you get used to it." His gaze fell on Nathaniel's unhappy face and he grew serious. Walking over to him, he put an arm around his shoulder, brushing a kiss against Nathaniel's smooth cheek. "I think you're lovely."

"You do?" Large grey eyes looked at him searchingly. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Carver met Nathaniel's gaze and traced his lips with his thumb. "Lovely and striking and sort of exciting. It's a bit unsettling, to be frank."

"Unsettling, eh?" A slow smile spread across Nathaniel's face, and he caught Carver's thumb between his teeth.

"The two of you are overthinking things." Megan walked over to the bed, glancing back at them over her shoulder. "Zevran is right. We should experiment a bit. It might be really educational."

Carver swallowed as he let Nathaniel drag him over to the bed. "You think?"


	16. Day 16 - Superheroes

**Day 16 – Superheroes**

"Are you a superhero too?" The little boy glanced up at Nate, distrust and awe warring on his features as he took in the tight black suit and the mask he was wearing.

Nate sighed and lowered his bow, careful to not lose sight of Megan while he was talking to the kid. She was climbing steadily up the façade of the tall skyscraper on the opposite side of the street, finding grips and handholds where no normal person would have stood a chance. Her leopard-print leotard was easy to make out against the cool grey concrete. Not for the first time, he wished she'd settle for a less conspicuous outfit.

But, whenever he'd brought up the topic, she'd been adamant. "People need to know it's Panthera herself come to save them, not some faceless stranger. They're far more likely to cooperate once they recognize me. Besides," she'd grinned, "it makes it easier to identify our opponents. Once they start shooting at me, I know they must be the bad guys."

"Well, are you?" Clearly, the boy hadn't given up. "I know _her_." He indicated Megan with a tilt of his head. "But I've never seen _you_ on TV."

_That's because the Black Archer prefers to work out of the limelight._ Nate sighed. It had been the main reason why he'd held off joining WoF for so long. The Wardens of Ferelden had a tendency to show up in the media as heroic saviours. Theirs were household names, their special powers familiar to every child: Panthera; The Spirit Healer; Duster Girl. Wherever they showed up in their signature outfits and masks, people breathed easier, knowing someone was protecting them.

Of course, their real selves remained hidden from the public eye. Few would suspect that the vapid young socialite Megan Cousland turned into silent, deadly Panthera every night. Fewer still would ever make a connection between the quiet young paediatrician from the suburbs and the powerful Spirit Healer in his flamboyant feathered robes. Their secret identities were as safe as they could be. Still, Nate had enjoyed working alone. But the General had been patient and persuasive, and had eventually convinced him that working together was their only chance to defeat their powerful foe.

"So, you know Panthera." He smiled down at the kid, still evading the question.

"Everyone knows her." The boy rolled his eyes. "And I think he-" He pointed over at Carver who was standing guard at the door, sword raised, ready to defend the civilians should the enemy try to outflank them. "He must be Claymore. I recognize the breastplate and the red cape."

"Yes, that's him." Nate nodded gravely.

"Who are you then?" Gods, the little guy was persistent.

Nate sighed and gave up. "They call me the Black Archer."

The kid shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "Never heard of you. What can you do?"

"What do you think?" He kept his eyes glued on Megan. She was nearly all the way up, clinging to the sheer surface and managing to look stunning in the process, no doubt aware of the cameras following her every move.

He just hoped none of the footage would leak before her mission was successfully over. The Archdemon's minions had swarmed most of Orzammar Imports' office complex, including the building he was in, already mostly liberated thanks to WoF's quick and decisive action. The other side had taken the CEO, Bhelen Aeducan, and most of the executive board hostage, though. Megan was on her way to his office up on the 30th floor right now, by a rather unusual route.

She was close to the penthouse now, moving as stealthily as the large cat she was named for. He'd watched her in action dozens of times now, and he knew the element of surprise was vital. When the right moment came, she would pounce, and her unsuspecting victim wouldn't stand a chance.

There was a tiny movement at a window on the floor below her, and Nate didn't waste any time. Notching an arrow, he aimed for a mere heartbeat and let it go, not bothering to check if it had found its mark before following it up with three more. Over on the other side, a frantic commotion told him his attack had been successful, but he feared for Megan's safety. The others knew she was on her way now.

He needn't have worried, though. Her slim silhouette had already disappeared inside the building. He waited, careful to keep his shoulders relaxed. Getting tense would be bad, considering he might be called on to shoot again at any moment. About two minutes later, the transmitter in his ear buzzed quietly.

"Panthera?" Nate knew better than to sound worried, not with the boy listening in, his eyes as wide as saucers.

"Perimeter secured." There was a hint of relief in her voice, but it was so faint he doubted anyone but he could hear it.

Carver nodded almost imperceptibly when he signalled a quick "she's okay" at him. The boy wandered off to bother someone else, clearly disappointed with Nate's attitude.

"Well done." The General's unmistakable gruff tones sounded in his ear. "Stay at your stations, everyone, until I give the all clear. The Berserker is dealing with the stragglers in your building, Archer. I repeat, stay put. You too, Claymore."

"Understood, sir." Nate rolled his eyes at Carver. He'd have much preferred to help with the clean-up. But one didn't argue with the General.

"Hey there." Megan's voice, warm and seductive, over their private line. "You okay?"

"Fine. Everything went according to plan." He flinched at how stiff he sounded. It was getting harder and harder to keep things impersonal while on the job.

"Good." Megan was positively purring. "Bodes well for some other plans I have for tonight."

Nathaniel shifted in his seat. The thought of just how close and personal he would get with Carver and Megan as soon as they were debriefed had already sent a tingle down his spine. _Another thing the public doesn't know about. _He exchanged a knowing glance with the other man. _And they certainly won't hear it from me._


	17. Day 17 – GangMafia

**Day 17 – Gang/Mafia**

He watched her surreptitiously during the lecture, as he did every week. It wasn't that he lacked interest in European history, but the low, droning voice of Professor McCarthy held considerably less fascination than the sight of that red-golden head, bent down over her notebook as she was frantically scribbling notes. She must have sensed his gaze, because she paused for a moment to glance over at him and flashed him a quick, radiant smile.

It was precisely at this moment that Carver Hawke realized he was in love with Margherita Collesano.

She was so different from the other girls. She'd laugh and giggle just like them but, when she spoke to the professors, she was quietly polite and respectful. Unlike the others, she didn't live in campus accommodation. Every afternoon, a discreetly luxurious black car would pull up and a liveried chauffeur would open the door for her, whisking her away to her home. She was dressed better than the rest of them, too, yet he'd never noticed her bragging or showing off her wealth.

When the lecture ended and everyone had gathered their belongings, he plucked up his courage and walked over to her desk.

"Carver." Another dazzling smile. "How are you?"

"Fine, thanks." Tentatively, he smiled back. "Say, Margherita… I was wondering. Would you like to go out with me some time? To the movies maybe?"

She gave him a long, thoughtful look. _Almost appraising_, he thought nervously. "I would like that, yes. But-" She fiddled with the zipper of her bag for a moment, then looked up at him. "My father is very conservative, you know. He'll want to meet you first."

He had a hard time hiding his surprise. "Meet me? But why-"

Margherita shrugged apologetically. "He worries about me. As I said, he's conservative."

"And yet he lets you attend college." She was majoring in the History of Art, she'd told him and, more than once, he'd seen her totally immersed in a book about the Italian Renaissance or some obscure French painter.

Margherita rolled her eyes at him. "He's a bit old-fashioned, but he's not a caveman."

Her words made him smile. "All right. If it's important to you, I don't mind getting to know your family first."

He'd have jumped through a lot more hoops to get her to go out with him, to be honest. Besides, he was actually curious to see how she lived.

"I'll talk to Papa and ask when it will suit him." Margherita glanced at her watch. "Ooops, I'm late for my next lecture. See you tomorrow." But she was smiling again as she left.

* * *

A week later, he was sitting next to her in the back seat of the big black car, watching in awe as they approached the Collesano compound. The grounds were surrounded on all sides by a high whitewashed wall, but he caught glimpses of majestic old beech trees behind it. When the car stopped in front of a beautifully wrought cast-iron gate, two men in black suits with impassive faces briefly glanced inside, then waved them past, nodding respectfully at Margherita.

The whole thing made him a little nervous but, when he glanced at her, she gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine. I know they look intimidating, but they've been with my family for years. Security is important for a man in Papa's position, you know."

Carver swallowed, trying to recall what he knew about Bruno Collesano. The owner and chairman of Collesano Imports and Exports, a hugely successful business built by his late father who had emigrated from Sicily at the beginning of the century, he was a notoriously private man. Now and then, he'd donate lavishly to various charities and, occasionally, he showed up in the news, shaking hands with some senator or other; but, apart from that, little was known about him.

Two more guys in black suits were guarding the front door of the charming Italian-style villa at the end of the driveway. Carver got out of the car first and looked around. It was hard to believe they were in the middle of the city. The faint drone of traffic in the background was barely audible among the noise of the birds singing in the shrubs and the soft crunch of gravel under his feet. The sun was shining down on a park-like garden stretching in all directions, with a small vegetable patch near the house adding an oddly domestic note.

"Thanks, Gilly." With a friendly wave at the chauffeur, Margherita turned to face him. "Come on. They'll be out in the garden in this lovely weather."

As she led him around the house, they passed an enclosure housing a herd of shaggy little goats. A boy who looked to be about six years old was playing with them, and he gave them a cheery wave.

"My nephew, Oren." Margherita explained as she waved back.

Carver shook his head in wonder. "How did your father get his hands on this property? And aren't there regulations against keeping farm animals in the city?"

She laughed. "The house and grounds have been in my family for a very long time. As for the goats… Papa knows a lot of influential people. I guess someone owed him a favour."

At the back of the house there was a well-kept lawn, with several chairs and tables set out in the shade. A little to the side, a small pavilion overlooked the rose gardens. A group of men in dark pants and white shirts was assembled there, apparently involved in a serious discussion.

He was about to ask Margherita about them when a woman walked up to them with outstretched hands and a friendly smile. "Rita! I see you've brought your friend."

This had to be her mother. Eleonora Collesano was an imposing lady, tall and slim, her grey hair pulled back in an elaborate bun. Her face was proud, almost haughty, but the expression on it was cordial and welcoming, making him relax a little.

"This is Carver, Mamma." Margherita introduced them dutifully. "Carver Hawke. I want him to meet Papa too."

"Your father is busy right now, talking to Signor Gaspari. Something… unexpected has come up." A brief shadow crossed her face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "Why don't you sit down and have a cup of coffee while you wait? I'm sure he won't be long."

Carver nodded and took the chair she offered. Signora Collesano stayed for a few more minutes, making polite conversation, then she excused herself and disappeared into the house. He took a deep sip from his cup – the coffee was strong and black and delicious – and leaned back in his chair.

"Your mother is very kind." He did his best to sound sincere, but Margherita laughed softly.

"I know she can be a bit intimidating. She has to be, to impress Papa's business partners. But trust me, there's a proper Italian mamma under all the snootiness. You should have seen her dance at my brother's wedding."

He smiled. "Is that your brother, over there?" He indicated a young man who stood next to her father in the shade of the pavilion.

"Yes, that's Ferruccio. He's not so bad, though he can be a bit of a jerk. And on Papa's other side, that's my cousin, Natanaele. My cousin twice-removed, I think, or thrice? He grew up in Sicily. When he came over, he was hardly more than a boy, so we took him in. He's Papa's _consigliere_ now."

"His what?" Carver studied the young man with interest. He was very dark, with a hawk-like nose and forbidding features, but Margherita had spoken his name with genuine warmth.

"His… lawyer, I think you'd say, though it's a bit more than that. He takes care of a number of things for Papa. Ferruccio is in the family business as well, of course, but Natanaele is Papa's right-hand man." Her face was serious. "Family is very important to Sicilians."

"So I've heard." Carver took another sip. "And the gentleman who's here to see your father?"

"Signor Gaspari." Margherita raised an eyebrow. "I don't really know him all that well. He made the cake for Ferruccio's and Oriana's wedding. He's probably here to ask his Don for help."

"His Don?" Carver's head was spinning with Italian phrases. "You mean your father."

"Yes." Margherita refilled his cup. "Don Collesano. It's what he prefers to be called. It is well-known that my father would never refuse a fellow Sicilian a favour. Well, not without good reason," she amended.

"So, what kind of favour would this Signor Gaspari ask?" Carver watched in fascination as the old gentleman got to his feet, then bowed deeply to kiss Don Collesano's hand.

"Money, maybe, or a word in the right ear." Margherita nodded at Signor Gaspari as he raised his hat at her in passing. "Or, you know, help in a difficult situation."

Carver frowned, about to ask more, but she jumped to her feet, taking him by the hand. "Come on. Time to meet Papa."

He took a deep breath and followed her over to the pavilion.

"Papi." Margherita kissed her father on both cheeks, drawing a brief smile from him. "This is Carver Hawke. The guy I told you about."

"Sir." Carver took the Don's outstretched hand and shook it. It was a pleasant handshake, firm and hearty, and the expression on Collesano's face was reserved, but not unfriendly.

"Carver Hawke." The Don had a deep, carrying voice. Despite being in his shirtsleeves, he looked very distinguished, with his thick grey hair and his aristocratic features. "I remember doing business with a Malcolm Hawke once. Any relation of yours?"

"That must have been my father, sir." Carver straightened instinctively under the austere gaze. "He was a businessman in the city before he married my mother and they moved out to the country to bring up my siblings and me. He passed away a few years ago, though."

"That is sad news." Don Collesano's expression was suitably sober, but he didn't seem surprised. With a pang, Carver realized that he had most likely had a background check run on him as soon as Margherita had mentioned his name.

"Nice to meet you." Ferruccio extended a hand toward him, smiling easily. He resembled his father closely, but seemed less severe, more affable. "So, you met my sister at college?"

Carver nodded. "I'm majoring in Political Science. We both have to take a class in European history, so we ended up in the same lecture."

"Political Science." Don Collesano raised an eyebrow. "Are you thinking of going into politics, young man?"

"I might." Carver felt on firmer ground here. "It sort of runs in the family. Governor Amell is my uncle on my mother's side."

"Ah, the governor." The Don reached for a tobacco pouch and a pipe. "We've met." Stuffing his pipe, he turned back to talk to Natanaele who had remained quiet so far. "See to this business of Signor Gaspari's, will you?" He put an affectionate hand on the younger man's arm.

"Of course." Natanaele's voice was hoarse and raspy. "Will your guest stay for dinner, Margherita?" The look in his grey eyes was intense as he met his cousin's gaze.

It occurred to Carver that the Don might well consider Natanaele an ideal match for his daughter; a man he already knew and trusted, a family member, reliable and competent. _So, where does that leave me?_ Not that he intended to marry Margherita. It was a bit early to think about that, wasn't it?

Yet, there was no denying that the scrutiny with which Natanaele regarded him was a little… unsettling. Carver swallowed. Suddenly he wasn't sure coming here had been altogether wise.


	18. Day 18 – War

**Day 18 – War  
**

Mamie lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply as she looked around the dingy little room she'd been assigned as a wardrobe: shabby furniture; a tiny mirror; barely enough space for her suitcase… Not that she'd expected luxuries, not this close to the front line. And really, she didn't mind, not anymore. There'd been times in her life when she'd have made a scene and complained, every inch the diva. But the last few years of war had taught them all how meaningless such things were, how utterly trivial in the face of death and pain and loss.

For the past two years she'd been travelling around Europe, performing in field hospitals and officers' clubs, in smelly mess halls and on trampled parade grounds. When people asked her why she did this, why the divine Mamie Cousland wasted her talents on unwashed soldiers, she had a number of glib responses ready, platitudes to shut them up. But, the truth was that she _cared_.

For the first time in her life, she cared about her audience: the tears in the eyes of a crippled boy; the gleam of hope in the men's eyes when she joked and flirted with them; the longing she could read in their faces for peace, for love, for home - all that meant so much more than her two Academy Awards, so much more than all the prizes and accolades of her career.

With a tired sigh, she stubbed out the cigarette and untied the laces of her heavy boots. She always wore her uniform when she first arrived at a new destination, and she always made sure she got the same food, the same rations as the soldiers. No point in coming here if she wasn't prepared to share their hardships. Once she was on stage, it was a different story, though.

Her dress for tonight was already out on a hanger, the glittering golden pumps and silk stockings carefully placed next to it. She'd chosen it with care, a dazzling sequined gown with daring cleavage and a tight, slit skirt. The hospital was a dismal place, hidden away in a small French town, and the patients could do with a heavy dose of glamour. Taking off her blouse and skirt, she folded them neatly and put them away, checking her reflection in the mirror with a critical glance.

A sharp knock on the door announced Nate's arrival. "Need help?"

He was in uniform too, and it looked good on his tall, lean frame. He'd shaved off the stubble as well, which was a pity, as far as she was concerned. Mamie liked the scruffy look on him, but the military's views were a bit stricter. When Nate had first recruited her for the Morale Operations Branch, he'd worn civilian clothes, a well-cut, elegant suit, and he'd fit in perfectly in the bar of the Ritz Carlton. Mamie smiled at the memory. Her first encounter with the OSS, and her first encounter with Agent Howe, her lover of almost two years now. She'd never stuck with any guy for quite so long.

She turned around so he could help her zip up her dress. He took his time, his fingers lingering lovingly on her back, caressing her through the thin silk of her slip.

"You look stunning," he whispered hoarsely in her ear.

"Good." She reached for her earrings. "The boys out there need something to take their mind off the war."

"I don't think any of them will be thinking about the war tonight." His hands tightened around her slim waist. "And neither will I."

Her make-up needed only a little touching up: a brighter shade of lipstick; a little extra rouge. She'd learned to do her hair herself, too. Shaking out the red-golden curls, she gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, then turned and headed for the door. Nate held it open for her, a look of sincere admiration on his face. He'd told her once how much he loved to watch her transform from girl next door to goddess before each performance. He never seemed to tire of it.

The venue tonight was a church hall, right next to the hospital, which meant she had an actual stage to work with and a proper piano. Varel would be so happy about the latter. He hated playing on mediocre instruments. She smiled at him from behind the curtain, admiring his poise as he sat down on the stool. He might be too old for active duty, but he was definitely contributing his share to the war effort.

As he began to play, just a small tune to warm up the audience, she let her gaze wander across the auditorium. They had brought several beds over from the hospital, for the patients who were too weak or too badly maimed to walk on their own. A lot of the others had their arms in slings or their heads wrapped up with bandages; some of them were missing limbs. The sight of scars and mutilations was all too familiar to her by now, but she'd never get used to how incredibly _young_ they all looked. Hardly more than boys, really.

At the back of the room, Nate was about to join a group of officers who had gathered round a small coffee table. They all looked a bit older and more world-weary than the common soldiers, with the exception of a tall, dark-haired young captain with a sulky look on his face. He had no visible injuries but, when he got to his feet to shake Nate's hand, she thought she noticed a slight limp.

Varel glanced in her direction and, when she nodded to show she was ready, he began to play the first few bars of her signature number, "I Just Can't Help It" – a raucous, suggestive song full of risqué allusions and breathless sighs. When she stepped out into the light, her head thrown back, her lips shaped into a seductive pout, she was greeted by a wave of wolf-whistles and loud cheers. Mamie smiled to herself. She knew she had them, right from the start.

Already, at least half of them were madly in love with her, while the other half were fantasizing about what was under that dress - all depending on how innocent they were, poor boys. Mamie loved it all, the romance and the eroticism, the sweetness and the heat. If they dreamed of her tonight, she didn't care whether they imagined her in a white dress or stark naked. They needed every distraction they could get.

More than once, between songs, her gaze wandered to the young captain. He was sitting on his chair, leaning slightly forward, his dark eyes fixed unwaveringly on her. What would _he_ dream about? Mamie felt a flutter of excitement in her stomach at the thought of finding out.

Varel shot her another questioning glance and she nodded. Catching the captain's gaze, she sauntered over to the piano. With a little help from the pianist, she arranged herself on top of the instrument, making sure her long legs showed to her best advantage before closing her eyes and launching into another slow, sultry song, her voice dark and smoky, her body writhing sensuously. She glanced over at the officer's table from under her long lashes. The young captain was swallowing hard, his tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Mamie didn't bother to hide her satisfied smile. She was enjoying herself tremendously, drinking in the admiration and the ardent looks of a whole room full of men, but, at the same time, she was getting impatient for the concert to be over.

Not before her final number, though—the song they had all been waiting for, the sad one; so full of longing and nostalgia that it was guaranteed to make them cry, for the loves they'd left behind or the ones they'd only ever dreamed of.

"_Outside the barracks by the corner light, I'll always stand and wait for you at night…"_ Mamie closed her eyes again, losing herself in the melancholy of the tune, in the sadness of the words.

The room had turned eerily quiet, the heated atmosphere giving way to a profound sadness. Some of the intelligence officers had protested when she'd added the song to her repertoire, claiming that it was bad for the boys' morale, but she knew better. They needed this opportunity to allow their sorrow and yearning free rein, for the duration of a song, before they could get back to their duties. They all needed it, even Nate. Even she herself.

"_Then we will say goodbye and part, I'll always keep you in my heart_…" Every single soldier in the room joined in the chorus, their voices choked with emotion, their eyes shining brightly.

When she'd finished, there was a moment of silence before the room erupted into applause. Firmly refusing all requests for encores, she made her way down to the auditorium, grasping outstretched hands and smiling at adoring faces on her way to Nate's table.

He rose to his feet when she arrived, and so did the other men. "A flawless performance, as usual." Nate bowed over her hand and breathed a kiss on it. "Allow me to introduce you to the gentlemen here: Major Bran; Captain Hendyr; Colonel Dumar. And Captain Hawke."

She smiled charmingly at each of them, then frowned slightly at Captain Hawke. "Have we met before? You look familiar." The lie passed her lips with ease.

"Not that I'm aware of." His eyes were a lovely deep, dark brown and full of fire. "I'm sure I would remember you. How could anyone forget such loveliness?"

The other officers chuckled at his words, but Mamie hardly heard them. She was drowning in his eyes, his voice, his closeness, and she was rapidly losing ground. He hadn't even touched her, but a pleasant shiver raced down her spine as she felt his eyes on her. From across the table, Nate was looking at her thoughtfully as if he could read her mind. _What now_? Mamie took a deep breath. She had no idea how this evening would end.

But, right now, she was ready for anything.

* * *

_I'm sure quite a lot of you will have recognized Mamie's final song anyway, but just in case: It's _Lili Marleen_, music by Norbert Schultze, English lyrics by Mack David, made immortal by the fabulous Marlene Dietrich. If you don't know it, check it out on youtube - it's quite beautiful and sad. _


	19. Day 19 - Idols

**Day 19 - Idols**

"Shit, Carver, when are you finally going to get rid of that thing?" Revon pointed at the poster on the wall with his half-empty beer bottle, a sneer of contempt on his face. "Honestly, it's embarrassing. You're sixteen, damn it! _No one_ moons over girl groups at your age. Well, no one except fags and sissies."

"I'm not gay!" Carver's reply was automatic though, to tell the truth, he didn't really care what his brother thought. "I just like their music."

_Besides, the Angels are hot. _Not even Revon could deny that. Each and every one of the five girls who made up the _Antivan Angels_ was stunning, and the poster was designed to show off their assets to their best advantage. Tall blonde Velanna who played the lead guitar was dressed in hot pants to show off her long, long legs. Isabela's luscious breasts were nearly bursting out of her cleavage as she leaned forward over her drum kit with a saucy smile. Sigrun, the sweet tiny one, was caught in the middle of a dance move, her guitar bouncing on her hips as she waved her perky little ass at the camera. And, Morrigan was plucking the strings of her bass, giving the photographer her patented smoky-eyed stare. Carver was never quite sure whether he was scared or aroused by it.

And then, there was Megan, the lead singer. He couldn't even say why he was so fascinated by her. Maybe it was her eyes, large and green and sparkling. Or, the copper red hair, always tousled, never quite perfectly arranged. Or, the sassy smile. Whatever it was, she was the one he dreamed of at night; she was the one he fantasized about during his furtive wanks when Revon was snoring in his bed on the other side of the room.

His brother rolled his eyes. "You call that music? Come on. They had one decent song, maybe two."

"_Beyond the Fade_ is a _fantastic_ song." Carver glanced sulkily at Revon.

But Revon just shrugged and took another sip from the bottle. "It wasn't too bad. But, hey, it's not as if they wrote it themselves. Those chicks aren't musicians, Carver, they're just… dress-up dolls. And dolls are for babies." He burped. "No wonder none of the cool kids want to hang out with you."

Carver didn't bother to reply straight away. It was a tired old argument anyway and completely beside the point. He knew very well that, no matter what music he listened to, he would never be as cool as his brother.

It was all very well for Revon, with his leather jackets and his tattoos and those cheekbones all the girls were swooning over. Besides, he was almost twenty, and he had his bike. He had no idea what Carver's life was like. If they didn't have to share a room, he'd probably ignore his little brother altogether. Revon had always made it abundantly clear how much he despised his whole family. He kept saying he was going to get out, head for the big city, and leave all this behind.

But so far he hadn't made good on his big words and here they were, cooped up together in their parents' minuscule flat in tiny, godforsaken Lothering.

"Don't have an answer to that, do you?" Revon grinned without a trace of humour. He really was being particularly obnoxious tonight.

Carver sighed. "Look, Rev, why don't you leave me alone? I don't complain about _your_ taste in music, do I?"

"No reason to complain." Revon finished the bottle and tossed it into a corner. "Nothing wrong with _my_ taste." He grinned up fondly at the posters decorating his side of the room. "Those guys actually know how to use their guitars."

Carver followed his gaze to the huge DARKSPAWN! poster adorning the wall above Revon's head. To him, they looked just like any of the other metal bands – all black leather, long shaggy manes of hair and stupid grimaces.

He shrugged. "Whatever."

Revon's eyes narrowed. "I'm telling you, Nate Howe is a guitar _god_."

Nate Howe was the guy with the long black locks and the broody face, even Carver knew that. On the poster, he was snarling at the singer, a pale blond guy who went by the name of… was it Anders? Andersen? Something vaguely Scandinavian-sounding anyway. The drummer was a cheery looking short guy with a red beard, but the fourth band member...

"I don't mind Howe." Carver tried to sound conciliatory. A quarrel with Revon was the last thing he needed. "But that skull face is stupid."

His brother treated him to another eye roll. "Kris Justice is the best bass player alive. I doubt he cares about your opinion of his stage make-up." Revon yawned. "Your _Antivan_ _Angels_ are just a PR exercise. Everything about them is fake, even the name. All their producers did was pick five hot babes, one for each hair colour. And then they made up personalities for them and tossed them at the audience."

"What do you mean, they made up personalities?" Carver was getting angry but, at the same time, he was intrigued by his brother's words. He knew that for all his posing and his arrogance, Revon was pretty smart when it counted.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" Revon pointed at the _Angels_ poster. "It's as if they had a list of adjectives and picked a girl for each of them: snooty, sexy, cute, scary, sassy. Who cares if they can sing or dance or read music?" He sneered at the poster. "They're nothing but a full assortment of wet dreams, one for every taste. Mind you, the blonde _is_ kind of hot."

Carver was blushing at Revon's words. They were uncomfortably close to the truth. Still, he had to make an effort to defend his idols. "But they _can_ sing and dance. Well, except for Morrigan, but-"

"See? Even you admit it." Revon's smug grin was enough to drive anyone up the wall. "What you need, little brother, is to get laid. You'll forget all about those dolls as soon as you've had a real girl in your bed."

Carver didn't answer. He hated it, when Revon did that. The last thing he needed was his brother's advice on his love life.

"Let's turn on the telly." A distraction would be welcome, he figured. "Isn't there some sort of Awards show tonight?"

"Shit, yeah!" Revon scrambled for the remote. "I'd almost forgotten. I bet DARKSPAWN! is going to smash the competition to smithereens. And, who knows, maybe they'll even have an award for your chicks." He grinned evilly. "Smoothest leg shave, maybe, or most vapid smile."

"Rev!" Carver was about to throw his pillow at Revon, childish as it might be, when his gaze fell on the screen and his eyes turned wide. "Look at this!"

"No way!" Revon seemed just as mesmerized as he was.

Because there, on the red carpet, Nate Howe had appeared, wearing leather pants so tight Carver wondered how he could walk, and a black sleeveless shirt that showed off his muscled torso. His hair was neatly tied back though, and he had his arm around the bare shoulders of a girl in a floor-length, sea-green dress; a girl Carver would have recognized anywhere. Her red hair was done up in a bun, but strands kept escaping and, when she smiled, her freckles danced all over her pretty face. Just then, Megan threw back her head and beamed up at Howe, clearly smitten with her date.

"God, I can't believe it. He's staring at her like a lovesick puppy." Revon sounded disgusted.

"Shhh." Carver grabbed the remote and cranked up the volume, eager to catch the words of the announcer.

"… a celebrity couple we didn't see coming: DARKSPAWN! lead guitarist Nate Howe and _Antivan Angel_ Meg Cousland are said to be 'blissfully, wildly, madly in love', according to an inside source. Wedding bells may be ringing before the year ends for the charming…"

"Turn that idiot off!" Revon snatched the remote back and hit the mute button hard. "I can't believe it."

_Well, neither can I._ Carver held his tongue, though. Closing his eyes, he tried to summon up his favourite dream, the one where she was smiling only for him, her arms wrapped around his neck, but it was no use. Images of Howe's hand on her slim back, his arm around her, his body pressed against hers, kept intruding. With an angry sigh, Carver turned to face the wall, pretending to be asleep.


	20. Day 20 – Species Swap

**Day 20 – Species Swap**

He was dozing in front of the fireplace, stretched out on the old rug that smelled of mud and rain and long walks with Mistress. It had been a quiet day so far. Maggie had snuck off into the garden to dig for mice. Maybe she'd share with him later. His nose twitched once or twice at the thought, but he couldn't be bothered to get up and join her. And anyway, digging for mice was for small ones, like her.

Mistress was sitting at the table, her white-haired head bent over a big old book. Occasionally she would talk quietly to herself, but he was used to that. With a long sigh, Nash turned on his back, stretching and yawning. The warmth of the fire was pleasant on his belly. He was about to doze off again when there was a knock on the door.

"Mrs Woolsey?" He recognized the voice. It was the man Mistress called Mr Varel, the neighbour from next door.

Nash liked him. He was quiet, never shouted. And he always smelled of bacon in the morning. Occasionally, he could even be persuaded to part with a treat with the help of a soulful, pleading look.

"Come in." Mistress got up to greet the arrival, but Nash didn't budge. No need to get excited over this particular visitor.

Yet, when the door opened, an unfamiliar smell hit his nostrils and his head shot up, ears pricked up and alert. _A dog!_

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mrs Woolsey. I can see you are busy." Mr Varel's deep, rumbling tones calmed him a little, but Nash kept a close eye on the bundle the man was carrying. "But I have a problem here, and I was wondering-"

"It's no trouble." Mistress reached out to take the bundle from his arms and put it on the table. "Who is this little fellow?"

Well, he wasn't quite so little. Nash got to his paws and slowly approached the table to have a better look. The newcomer was black with tan markings, his coat coarse and flat. He looked a bit stocky, with strong legs and a muscled neck, triangular ears and a broad muzzle. He smelled… young, and faintly sick, but he was almost fully grown. Nash growled quietly. Another male.

Mistress put a calming hand on his head. "Shhh, Nash. Look, he's hurt, poor thing."

"He does look a bit battered, doesn't he?" Mr Varel chuckled. "Mr Stroud brought him to my place this morning. He picked him up on his trip to Kirkwall. Says he found him in the gutter. He doesn't look like a mongrel, though."

"No, he doesn't." Mistress nodded. "And he seems good-natured enough."

She ran her other hand over the new dog's head, gently but firmly. The pup responded with a low whine, then rolled onto his back to present his belly for scratching.

Mr Varel laughed again. "Yeah, according to Stroud he's a cuddler, for all his fierce looks. Can you look after him, at least until he's fully healed?"

"What's wrong with him?" Mistress frowned. "He looks half-starved, that much is certain."

"He also had a nasty cut on his flank, see?" Mr Varel pointed out the almost-healed wound. "He was crawling with fleas and parasites, Stroud said. The vet took care of that, but he's still weak."

"What do you think, Nash?" Mistress rubbed his back, petting his silky black fur, then gazed earnestly into his eyes. "Would you like a new friend?"

He sat down and scratched vigorously behind his ear, trying to hide his confusion. He wanted to please Mistress, he really did, but what did he need a new friend for? He already had Maggie, and she was more than he could bear on some days. Mistress smiled and picked up the newcomer, placing him carefully on the floor before him.

In a flash, he was on his feet again, standing straight with his ears and tail up to show off his full size. The other dog ducked a little, tail lowered, trying to appear smaller. _Good_. It seemed there would be no challenge to his authority, at least not yet. He glanced briefly at the pup's eyes, then proceeded to sniff him thoroughly, allowing him to reciprocate, and growling only briefly when he became too enthusiastic. When they both had satisfied their curiosity, they settled back on their haunches, watching each other, tails wagging slowly.

"Well done, Nash." Mistress Woolsey smiled.

"He's such a handsome fellow." Mr Varel's admiring tone made him sit up a little straighter.

"Yes." Mistress smiled. "Black labs are my favourite breed, really. Handsome, clever and fearless. Aren't you, Nash?"

He barked once, licking her hand eagerly.

Mistress smiled, then turned her attention to the newcomer again. "All right, it seems Nash approves. Does he have a name?"

"Stroud called him Carver." Mr Varel shrugged. "No idea why."

"Carver? Makes him sound like a serial killer." Mistress tsked. "But it will do."

Just then, a scrabbling noise at the door announced Maggie. Her gold and tan coat was streaked with mud, the long silky locks tangled. She cannoned into the room at full speed as usual, yapping excitedly at Mr Varel, but stopped in her tracks at the sight of Carver, giving him her full attention.

"Maggie." Mistress sighed. "You are a mess."

Mr Varel shook his head, but he was smiling. "That one is a handful, isn't she? Very cute, though."

"She certainly is." Mistress' tone grew stern. "A bath for you, missy, I think. But first say hello to Carver."

Maggie bounced toward Carver who cowered back, clearly overwhelmed by her enthusiasm. But, she was undaunted. Stopping right before him, she lowered her front legs and pawed playfully at his muzzle. He hesitated for a moment, then pawed back. When she doubled back out of reach, racing toward the garden door, he followed her with a happy bark.

The humans laughed, but Nash gazed thoughtfully after them. His life had just become a lot more complicated.


	21. Day 21 - Fantasy

**Day 21 – Fantasy**

_A/N: Well, this one was a bit of a conundrum, since Dragon Age is a fantasy universe anyway but, as you all know by now, I love crossovers, so I sent Megan, Nate and Carver over to Skyrim (or Riften, to be precise) ;)._

She would never voluntarily have stepped through a portal in the normal course of events. Megan wasn't stupid. Those things never meant anything but trouble, no matter whether they led to the Fade or to another place entirely. But Carver had slipped on the mossy floor of the cave and stumbled right through the swirling purple surface. Megan had followed him without a moment's hesitation, and, of course, Nathaniel had jumped in right behind her.

On second thought, it might have been better if at least one of them had stayed behind. She cursed under her breath. At least Anders was still there and could examine the portal more closely. He could also tell the others they were gone, provided he made it back to Vigil's Keep in one piece. Megan cursed again, more violently this time, even though she knew it was useless. All they could do was find out where they had ended up.

Carver and Nathaniel still seemed numb with shock, so she decided to have a quick look around while they recovered.

They were in some sort of underground tunnel, sparsely lit through a grille above them, but built from solid flagstones, with vaulted roofs and cobbled floors. The walls were damp and it smelled mouldy, so she guessed there was water nearby. A little way along the nearest wall, she could make out a ladder, its rusty rungs leading upward.

"Our way out." She nodded toward the ladder. "Come on. No sense in hanging around down here."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Nathaniel shook himself like a wet dog. "Shouldn't we stay near the portal?"

"It's closed on our side." She shrugged. Of course, there was no telling whether or not it would open again later, but it was just as likely they would have to find a different way back. "And I'd rather get moving. We won't learn anything about this place by hiding away."

"We also probably won't run into any trouble down _here_," Carver pointed out.

"And when has that ever stopped us?" Megan grinned at the two of them. "You know, this is actually quite exciting. A real change from our routine patrols."

"That's one way of looking at it." Nathaniel threw her a dark glance but, when she set out toward the ladder, he followed without further complaints, and so did Carver.

There was another grille in the wall near the top of the ladder, but its hinges were well-oiled and it swung back easily when she pushed. Outside, they found themselves on a wooden walkway, much like a pier, smack in the middle of a town. There were a number of people around, but no one seemed overly concerned to see them emerging from the ground. The residents had an air of single-minded activity about them. Fortunately, they were dressed in a similar enough way that Megan and her two companions fit right in.

They followed the walkway, drifting with the crowds, until they reached a small square with a central fountain surrounded by several stalls – obviously the town's marketplace; not a particularly well-appointed market, though some of the items on display looked interesting enough. There was a blacksmith too, but, on the whole, the place appeared shabby and run-down, with its weathered wooden buildings and the stink of the canals pervading the whole town.

"Hey, you!" A shady character leaning against a wooden column sized Megan up with a suspicious glare. "I don't know you. You in Riften looking for trouble?"

_Riften_. Megan frowned. She'd never come across a place of that name and couldn't recall ever seeing it on a map of Thedas. _Not good_.

"Just passing through," she replied nonchalantly, ignoring the man's ominous muttering as she walked on.

He took a look at Nathaniel and Carver, close on her heels, and obviously decided that the odds were stacked against him. But she hadn't walked more than a few paces before another stranger stepped in her way. This one was different: a handsome guy, with reddish hair and a beard, dressed reasonably well.

When he opened his mouth, his deep, smooth voice made her shiver pleasantly. "Running a little light in the pockets, lass?" He had a curious accent. Not unattractive, though, not by any means.

"I beg your pardon?" He was tall too. Megan looked up at him with big round eyes, doing her best to exude an air of wounded innocence. "You'll have to forgive me. I'm a stranger around these parts. Maybe you could help me out a little?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Expecting free information, eh? Help me deal with business first, then we'll see how I can help you."

_Of course. I knew he'd ask me to do a job for him first._ Just like everyone else she had encountered in her travels. Megan just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes skyward. Some things seemed to be universal.

He leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes roving up and down her body with obvious interest. "Besides, you look like you could use some coin, am I right?"

"How could you possibly know that?" Megan shook her head. "Ah, forget it. Go on. I'm interested."

"Meg!" Nathaniel stepped up beside her, glancing sharply at the stranger. "You don't even know his name. This could be dangerous."

Carver kept silent but he, too, took a step forward, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

The stranger smiled and her heart beat faster. "I'm Brynjolf. Don't worry, lass. I'm not asking you to kill a dragon."

Megan shrugged. "I'm not afraid of dragons. We've killed a few."

"Killed dragons?" Brynjolf seemed impressed. "You're not Dragonborn, by any chance?"

"Certainly not." Megan shook her head. _What an odd expression!_ "So, what kind of job do you have in mind?"

His smile was back in place. "Don't worry. All I need is an extra pair of hands. It's just a small errand, and you'll be well paid."

"What do I have to do?" Next to her, Nathaniel sighed in frustration. _Oh, come on, Nate. _Megan felt a reckless smile rise to her lips. _What's the worst that can happen?_


	22. Day 22 – Horror

**Day 22 – Horror**

_A/N: I'm no good at splatter horror and monsters and the like, so I settled for a Gothic ghost story instead. Sorry if it isn't particularly scary._

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain was coming down hard, making it almost impossible to see more than a few yards ahead. Carver rubbed his eyes wearily. It would probably be safer to find a place to stay for the night as soon as possible. In this weather, he'd never make it safely to Beth's place. Why his sister had felt the need to make her home in a tiny little village somewhere in the Lake District was beyond him anyway. But, right now, he had a pretty good idea of why there were so many lakes around here.

He remembered passing a village a while ago, but the idea of attempting a U-turn on the narrow winding country road was less than appealing, so he kept going, at a snail's pace, careful not to get too close to the trees lining the road, their branches almost meeting overhead. It felt like driving through a green tunnel, which was rather charming during daytime. Now, in the rain and the dark, it was just creepy.

There was a junction ahead and, next to the road, he could just about make out the silhouette of a church spire. He debated briefly whether or not he should just go on, but then decided it was worth a try. And, sure enough, right next to the church and the cemetery, there was a large, rectangular building with a light shining from one of the ground floor windows. This had to be the old rectory.

Carefully, he parked his car and dashed over to the door. The house looked run-down and gloomy in the dim light but, when he rang the bell, it was only a moment until he heard steps inside. Bracing himself against the doorframe, he waited patiently while the bolts were pushed back. The door opened just a crack.

"What is it?" It was a woman's voice, but it was firm and no-nonsense.

He caught a glimpse of a middle-aged lady in a dress and apron, her hair tied back in a severe bun.

"Good evening, ma'am." He did his best to sound non-threatening. His bulky frame tended to intimidate people, especially women. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this hour, but the storm caught me by surprise, and I'm looking for a place to stay for the night. Is there a hotel nearby, by any chance?"

She shook her head. "Not what I'd call nearby, no. You better come in. I'll tell Master Nate he has a visitor."

"That's very kind." Carver exhaled deeply. Much as he hated the thought that he was taking advantage of a stranger's generosity, he was really relieved he didn't have to go out there again.

The old woman led him into a small study and took his dripping coat from him without a word, then motioned for him to sit down in an armchair near a fireplace that appeared to actually be in use. While he waited, he took the opportunity to look around. The study was lined with bookshelves and there was a heavy wooden desk in one corner. No phone, no computer, at least not that he could see. It was an old-fashioned kind of place, to be sure, and he wondered who "Master Nate" was.

Carver smiled to himself. Really, it was almost like stepping straight into one of those old mystery stories he used to read as a kid. Weird, but also fascinating. Just then, the door opened, and a tall, dark-haired man walked in, greeting him with a nod.

"Welcome to the old Rectory. I am Nathaniel Howe. Of course we can put you up for the night in this inhospitable weather, Mr …?" The man's voice was hoarse and rough, and there was something odd about the way he was speaking, almost like an actor on a stage. He seemed to have a flair for the dramatic, underscored by his choice of clothes – dark pants and a white shirt with a high neck and ruffled sleeves that made him look a bit like a highwayman in an old movie.

"Hawke. Carver Hawke." He nodded back, regarding his host with barely hidden curiosity. "I'm very grateful for your hospitality, sir."

"It's nothing. Mrs Woolsey will have your room ready presently. I hope you'll have a glass of wine with me before you retire for the night." Howe pointed to a carafe and an empty glass on the small table. He'd brought his own glass, already filled to the brim with what looked to be a heavy red wine. "We don't get many visitors out here."

Carver accepted with a grateful smile and settled back in his chair, taking a sip from his glass, then raising his eyebrow in appreciation. "That's a fine wine."

Howe nodded, unsmiling, his dark face wearing a thoughtful, almost brooding expression. "My cellars are well-stocked these days. But, tell me, what brings you out here?" He took the other armchair, throwing one long leg casually over the armrest. His face was pale and tired, but his grey eyes were alert, and Carver felt vaguely uncomfortable under his intense gaze.

"I'm on my way to visit my sister. She recently bought a cottage near Windermere." He shivered. The room still seemed damp and cool, despite the warmth of the fire, and he wondered whether he had caught a cold. "She's a writer of children's books, and she says there's less distractions around here than in London."

"Very true." Howe almost smiled. "I'm a writer myself, you know. Though my muse seems to have left me lately." His face darkened even further. "I must have done something to scare her off."

Carver shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Something about Howe made him uneasy, though there was no denying the man was interesting, even intriguing. But, right now, exhaustion won out over curiosity. "If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to get some rest now. It's been a long drive."

"Of course." Howe got to his feet in a fluid motion. "I wouldn't want to keep you. I hope you'll have a quiet night."

"I'm sure I will." Carver got to his feet, hiding his yawn behind one hand.

To his surprise, Howe shook his head. "This is an old house. Don't be surprised if you hear funny noises or see… unusual things. Have a good night."

He disappeared with a quaint little bow, leaving Carver more than a little confused. _Unusual things?_ Definitely a flair for the dramatic, he decided.

Mrs Woolsey took him to a medium-sized, spotlessly clean room on the first floor. It was warmer up here, and the bed looked old, but comfortable. He undressed quickly and crawled under the covers with a happy sigh. He was already dozing off when it occurred to him that Beth would worry, so he dug around in his bag for his mobile. When he finally found it, it was dead. He must have forgotten to recharge it before he'd left. Carver cursed under his breath. Well, there was nothing to be done right now. She'd probably figure out he had stopped somewhere for the night.

It was still raining heavily outside, the patter of the raindrops against the window pane monotonous and soothing. But he found that he couldn't fall asleep. He kept tossing and turning, replaying the conversation with Howe over and over again in his mind. Something had been off about the whole thing, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. And Howe hadn't lied about the noises. All around him there were floorboards creaking, shutters rattling, and a faint scrabbling that made him think of mice. The room had grown cold again, too; an icy draft coming from the direction of the window.

With a sigh, he sat up and reached for the light switch, intending to find a book and read for a while to settle down. But, when the lights went on, it took all his control not to scream. Someone was sitting on the broad windowsill, watching him silently.

His heart was racing, but he calmed down a little when he saw it was a girl, or a young woman rather. She was very pale and very pretty, with strawberry blonde hair and large green eyes, and she was wearing a thin white nightdress, with a heavy velvet dressing gown thrown over it and tied firmly around her slim waist.

"You gave me quite a scare!" His voice was shaky.

She smiled apologetically at him, and it was the most beautiful smile he'd ever seen. "I'm so sorry. I was just curious. We don't get a lot of visitors out here."

Her words were an almost exact echo of what Howe had said earlier, and Carver felt a shiver run down his spine. Something was very odd here.

"Who are you, then?" It was a blunt question, but he was too nervous for finesse.

"My name's Megan." She plucked restlessly at the neckline of her dress. "I bet you're from London. You sound like a Londoner." She sounded a little wistful. "I'd love to see London. What's your name?"

"I'm Carver." He tried to keep his tone light. "It must be lonely up here, for a pretty girl like you. Why don't you move to the city, maybe find a job there?"

Her smile turned sad and she got up from the sill, fiddling with the belt of the gown. "But I can't leave, you see. He will never let me go."

Carver frowned. He? Was she talking about Howe? He was still trying to come up with an answer when she finished untying the belt and let the dressing gown slide down over her shoulders. This time he couldn't hold back his scream.

Her dress was drenched in blood at the front, torn in several places as if someone had repeatedly slashed at her. There were deep gashes in her smooth white skin, but she moved as if she didn't feel a thing.

Carver felt as if his heart had stopped beating, as he realized that there was no way she could be alive with injuries like these; no way she could be standing there, smiling wistfully at him, her large eyes wet with tears.

He gasped hard. "Who did this to you?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. "He did. He was so angry, said I'd been with someone else." Her eyes opened again, and the look in them was full of naked despair. "But I hadn't. Never. I loved him so much and, besides, there was no one else, no one at all…" Her voice trailed off and she stared at the ground for a moment. When she raised her head again, the radiant smile was back. "You look nice, though."

Carver's hands tightened around the bedcovers, so hard he feared his knuckles would break. "Please…" He had trouble controlling his voice. "Please don't come closer."

Her face turned sad again. "You don't think I'm pretty?" She stepped closer, raising her arms and twirling around to show off her white dress.

A hysterical laugh threatened to rise in his throat and he fought it back as well as he could. "You're beautiful. But this isn't… right."

To his surprise, she nodded and took a step back. "No, you're right. It isn't. Such a pity." She sighed deeply, and then, without so much as a pop, she was gone.

Carver was shaking all over, trying to process what had just happened. Had it been a dream? She had looked perfectly real. But, if what she'd said was true… Who was this "he" who had done this to her? Howe? Was he staying in the house of a cold-blooded murderer? His glance settled on the door and, without thinking, he lunged over to it, bolting it firmly on his side. Would that be of any use if Howe came for him? He wasn't sure.

He reached for his clothes and put them on again, even though the room wasn't quite as cold any more. Still, he felt safer once he was dressed. And there was no way he could go to sleep after this any way. For hours, he sat on the bed, straining his ears, half expecting her to show up again, or for Howe to break into his room, axe raised, eyes crazed. It was almost morning when he finally fell into a fitful slumber.

When he woke, the room was brightly lit by sunshine, and birds were singing in the tree outside. Quickly, he gathered his belongings and set out for the stairs, eager to be out of this place.

Downstairs, a breakfast table was set in a room right next to the hall. To his surprise, there was a gas fire in the fireplace. Carver frowned. He was positive there had been a wood fire last night in the study. He hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do, when a door at the back of the house opened and Mrs Woolsey walked in, carrying a large breakfast tray and giving him a cheery smile. She looked older than he had thought last night, and a lot less severe. Her hair was almost completely white, and there were wrinkles around her eyes that he hadn't noticed in the dim light of the evening.

"Ah, Mr Hawke. Your breakfast is all set out, and I have your bill ready for you here. I trust you had a pleasant night?"

"I… " He was too confused to come up with a coherent answer. "My bill?"

"It's right next to your plate." She smiled serenely as she poured him a cup of tea, then she sat down near the window with a basket of knitting wool.

Gratefully, he reached for the cup, picking up the bill in an attempt to make sense of it. _Old Rectory B&B_ was written in large, flowing letters on top of the small stripe of paper. Thirty-five pounds - a perfectly reasonable rate for a single room. But what-

"How's Mr Howe doing this morning?" He tried to sound casual.

"Mr Howe?" The old lady looked at him blankly.

Carver opened his mouth to speak, but then he thought better of it. "Never mind."

"You were very tired, when you arrived last night." Mrs Woolsey sounded almost motherly. "Perhaps you got the names muddled up. The only man around the house nowadays is Mr Varel, our caretaker."

"I'm sure you're right." Hastily, Carver wolfed down a slice of buttered toast, then settled the bill and grabbed his coat. "Good bye, Mrs Woolsey. I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Of course you are." She followed him to the door, and he heard the bolts slide home from outside.

His car was just where he'd left it. Right next to the driveway, a low dry stone wall marked the boundary of the small churchyard, overgrown with grass and wild flowers, with gravestones scattered all over it. For a moment, he was tempted to take a look, to see whether he could find Megan's name on any of them, but then he remembered those sad green eyes, and suddenly he couldn't wait to be out of there.

He got into the car and turned on the engine, relieved when it sprang to life immediately. As he left the driveway, he could see Mrs Woolsey standing at the window, watching him go, a strange little smile on her aged face.

Carver had to force himself not to drive too fast. To his surprise, it was only a few miles to the next village. It was a pleasant, almost cheerful place, with a proper village green with a post office and a bakery. He decided to stop and have something to eat and a cup of coffee. He hadn't really felt hungry at the Rectory.

The girl at the counter smiled brightly at him as she took his order and, when she brought his coffee, he was struck by a sudden impulse. "Say, does the name Nathaniel Howe ring a bell? I was told he lived near here?"

"Nathaniel Howe? No, never heard of him." She shook her head. "I can ask my mum, if you want." Opening a door behind the counter, she called out. "Mum? Ever heard of a Nathaniel Howe? Supposed to live nearby?"

A small round woman with a friendly face turned up in the doorway. "Howe… Yes, of course. That writer fellow. But he doesn't live here anymore. He's been gone for a long time." She glanced up at Carver with a pained grimace. "A nasty business, that was. Killed his girlfriend and then hanged himself. About forty or forty-five years ago, I think."

Carver felt dizzy. _Hanged himself_. With a shudder, he remembered Howe's high-necked shirt, wondering what had been hidden beneath it. Still, none of this made sense. Had he been dreaming all along? Yet, he was positive he'd never heard of the murder at the rectory before last night. Or had he read about it and forgotten again?

As he returned to his car, he wondered what he would tell Beth. Somehow, he doubted she'd believe his story.


	23. Day 23 - Pre-21st Century (Spartacus AU)

**Day 23 - Pre-21st Century (Spartacus AU)**

_A/N: The prompt was for "Pre-21__st__ Century" – I went a little overboard and settled for 1__st__ century BC… Just because I've always wanted to write a Spartacus AU. I hope you enjoy it even if you're not familiar with the show. _

* * *

The new recruits were brought in just after noon. Margarita watched from the balcony as Dominus and Doctore took them to their quarters, down in the courtyard. Three of them altogether. She wondered whether any of them would make the cut and become gladiators. The first two didn't look particularly promising, scruffy low-down scum from Gaul, the dregs of the slave market. But the last one, the tall one with the dark hair, he seemed to have the spark.

She had seen so many of them come and go, ever since she'd become a house slave at the ludus, almost five years ago. Most of them never even made it to the arena, coughing out their miserable lives in the sand of the courtyard during training. But, now and again, one of them would come along and have the potential to become a true champion.

Naevius chose that moment to glance up at the balcony from his corner of the courtyard where he was resting after this morning's exertions in the arena. When he noticed her, a rare smile spread over his dark, roughly handsome face. Shyly, she smiled back, her heart beating faster at the thought of being sent down to pleasure him later tonight. He'd been victorious again, of course, and richly deserved his reward.

"Margarita!" Domina had stepped out next to her, inspecting the newcomers with a critical eye. "Is that the new lot? My, but that last one is _big_." She laughed coyly.

Margarita kept silent, knowing full well that no answer was expected from her.

"You can help Ocris with the new recruits. No need to come back upstairs afterwards. Valeria will see to my dress." She smiled at her personal body-slave, a tall, blonde beauty who graciously inclined her head.

Margarita didn't need to be asked twice. She much preferred to be out of sight downstairs, even if the gladiators were a rough lot. As the gate fell shut behind her, she quickened her steps, nodding respectfully at Loukianos in passing. He had been Doctore for as long as she could remember, and no gladiator would ever dare question his authority. His lined face remained impassive as usual but, when one of the gladiators whistled after her, his hand went to his whip in a clear warning and the man immediately fell silent.

Ocris was busy chatting to the new recruits when she arrived. She smiled affectionately at the sight of his rotund belly and his flaming red hair. The Hibernian was no longer fit for the arena after a fight that had cost him half his left foot, but he had made himself useful at the ludus ever since, and was well-liked by everyone.

"Margarita, my beauty. Come to help me?" His speech was slightly slurred. He must have had some of Naevius' victory wine earlier on. When he turned to face the recruits again, he was swaying slightly. "Jupiter's cock! You lot stink like pigs. Can you get us some oil for these unwashed barbarians, honey pie?"

"Of course." She went to find oil and strigiles.

When she returned, they had all stripped down to their loincloths and wandered over to the steam bath. Yes, the dark-haired one was in fine form. Idly she let her gaze travel over his muscular body while he scraped off the grime. He had wide shoulders that tapered off to a slim waist, strong legs, and a flat, hard stomach. His skin was tanned a deep brown from the heat of the sun down here in Capua, and covered in an assortment of fine, white scars.

"So, what do you think of them?" she asked Ocris, carefully keeping her voice down.

He snorted and spat on the floor. "The Gauls are fucking _dead_ as soon as one of them gets paired with Naevius or Androcles. Him, though…" He tilted his head toward the third guy. "He's from Britannia. I bet he knows how to fight."

"From Britannia, you say. What is his name?" Margarita's curiosity was piqued.

"They call him Caratacus." The man's head flew up at the mention of his name, his expression grim and sulky. "Well, isn't it true?" Ocris raised an eyebrow.

"That is not my name." He was practically growling, but his brown eyes, firmly fixed on Margarita, were soft like a girl's, with long lashes and a sadness inside them that made her swallow. "Caradoc. That's what my father called me."

"Well, you will be Caratacus here in this ludus." Ocris was less than impressed. "No Roman will bother to learn a barbarian's name. Most of us no longer go by the name we were born with." He chuckled. "I remember when Naevius first arrived here. The current champion of this noble house," he added by way of explanation for the new recruits. "Freshly arrived from Syria, hardly spoke a word of Latin. Called himself… what was it?"

"Naveed." Margarita smiled to herself.

"Well, you would know." Ocris winked at her. "Well, go on, off to his quarters with you. Look at her, boys. This is what your shrivelling cocks have to look forward to once you become champion. Not that it's fucking likely in your case."

"Stop teasing them." She jumped to her feet. "Sure you don't need me anymore?"

"I told you, be gone. Can't wait to be with him, eh?" Ocris' words were accompanied by an exaggerated leer and an explicit hand gesture, but she didn't mind. She knew he had a kind heart under all that bluster.

"Gratitude." She turned to go.

But, as she crossed the courtyard, she could feel Caratacus' eyes on the naked skin of her back, hot and intense. He was definitely someone to look out for.

Naevius was in his cell, trying to clean a small scrape on his upper arm.

"Let me help you with that." She took the gauze from his hand and set to the task, frowning when it came away smeared with blood and sand.

"Don't look so angry." Naevius ran a hand down her back in a gentle caress, letting it come to rest possessively on her hip. "One of Batiatus' men caught me unawares, but he won't do so again. Ill-trained fool." He still had a trace of an accent, even after all these years, and she loved the sound of his voice, rough and raspy.

"It still needs to be properly cleaned." She wiggled out of his grasp, reaching for the wine amphora.

"Hey, you're not wasting that on my wound," he protested.

"Do you want to lose your arm?" She put on her best strict face, but he only laughed and pulled her close again.

The gleam in his eyes indicated he'd already had his fair share of the wine. Or maybe he was just drunk on battle lust. They all got like this after a fight, flushed with their victory and ready to lose themselves in a haze of pleasure. It was probably natural, considering they'd faced death only hours before. Secretly, she loved it. Naevius – Naveed – was usually so very controlled. His restraint in the arena was legendary. He could never be taunted into making a false move. Tonight, with her, however, it was a different story.

"Gods, you are so beautiful." There was a tremor in his voice that told her he was close to losing control.

Carefully he lifted her, arranging her legs around his waist, and carried her over to the narrow bed, kissing her deeply. He tasted of wine and something else, a faint metallic tang, and she couldn't get enough of his mouth, his hands on her breasts, his hard, muscled torso pressed against her as he lowered her to the mattress.

"Naveed." She breathed his name, tracing his lips with her fingers, and he shuddered, his eyes drinking in her face.

There was no talking after that, just his weight on top of her, his hands spreading her wide, his cock deep inside her, the sinuous movement of his hips as he made her come over and over until he found his own pleasure, collapsing on top of her with a strangled cry. He held her afterwards, his hand tangled in her hair, but he was staring blindly at the ceiling, unsmiling.

"What weighs on your heart?" She turned in his arms, resting her head on his chest, trying to read his mood.

His arm tightened around her. "What if Dominus decides to give you to another man tomorrow?"

She sighed, drawing a pattern on his skin with her finger. "What is this foolishness? You are the champion of this house. He won't give me to anyone else."

"What if he wishes to sell you?" His face hardened. "How would I purchase your freedom? Or even find you again?"

"I'm yours." She shook her head. "This is not like you. What could be gained from thinking such morbid thoughts?"

"I can't help them." He sat up, visibly agitated. "I can't help loving you. I did not choose love. It claims each man as it will." He swallowed. "There is no life absent your touch."

"Then make love to me again." Embracing him, she caught his gaze. "Whatever tomorrow brings, we have this night. We should make the most of it."

"Truth." He kissed her again, hard and deep. "My heart is yours, Margarita. Always."

She swallowed back a sob as she kissed him back. _We have this night._


	24. Day 24 - Dystopia

**Day 24 –Dystopia**

"So, what did you do?" The pretty girl leaning against the tunnel wall opposite him looked at him appraisingly. "Must have been pretty bad if they are sending you out in cheap leathers and armed with nothing but a bow."

"None of your business." Nathaniel shook his head. _The nerve!_ But, she would learn better manners soon enough. He doubted any of the other convicts would be willing to talk about their past. "Seems to me you're not much better off."

It was true. Her leathers were even skimpier than his, leaving her midriff bare, no doubt as a fan service to the players. She _did_ have a nice body, all trim and taut, her skin smooth and silky. Some gamer boy out there was probably licking his lips at the thought of pitting her against a horde of monsters eager to ravish her. Quickly, Nathaniel looked away. The thought made him sick.

"Well, at least I got these!" With a cheeky smile, the girl raised a pair of wicked-looking daggers. "And a bag with provisions and medicine, and a map. Want to share?"

"Share? Why would you do that?" Nathaniel immediately felt suspicious, but she just shrugged.

"We're playing for the same team, judging from your tags." She pointed to the ribbons attached to his leather jerkin. "I'm Megan, by the way."

"Nathaniel. Nate, if you prefer." Suddenly, it seemed pointless to antagonize her. On impulse, he decided to accept her offer. "All right. I've got some arrows and a few traps, but not much else, I'm afraid."

She made a soothing noise. "Doesn't matter. We will definitely stand a better chance of surviving if we stick together. And an even better one if we can persuade _him_ to join us."

Nathaniel followed her gaze to the broad-shouldered guy in plate armour at the far end of the tunnel. He looked very young, hardly more than a teenager, and Nathaniel allowed himself a moment of speculation as to what he could have possibly done to deserve this.

But then, in all probability, none of them deserved their fate. When the "Age of the Dragon" franchise had first started, only murderers and rapists had been considered expendable enough to be used as avatars for the players. No one had ever expected how popular the game would become, though, and how much money could be made with it. Soon, the rules had been adapted to fit the increased demand for new blood.

Nowadays, it was perfectly possible to end up in the game world as a punishment for a minor misdemeanour or for overly critical opinions about the government. Not for life, of course – mostly, those sentences were limited to a few weeks, depending on the crime. But, what use was that if you ran into enemy troops before your time was up? Most of the veteran avatars out there wouldn't think twice before killing the newcomers. Whatever humanity they'd had left when they'd first come here was long gone. There were rumours about genetically manufactured monsters too, and poisonous plants and booby traps.

And, of course, it all depended on what player you got assigned to when they implanted the control chip. Nathaniel had heard that some of them took reasonably good care of their avatars, making sure they were well fed and healed after every fight. Others were less attentive, neglecting to check in for days on end. And still others were said to actually _enjoy_ making their pawns suffer.

Megan had sauntered over to the knight in armour, smiling up at him as she repeated her spiel. She was really pretty, Nathaniel thought guiltily. He'd always had a thing for redheads, freckles and all, and she had lovely eyes, green like a cat's. She seemed to have a good deal of common sense as well. It definitely didn't make sense to fight each other on top of everything else they would have to deal with.

"Nate. Meet Carver." She was returning, and the boy was following her, clutching his huge sword clumsily. "He can hunt, he says."

"Snare rabbits," Carver amended shyly. "I used to be a boy scout back before they got banned. I can skin and clean them too, but I'm not much of a cook."

"Hello, Carver." Nathaniel shook hands with him, then glanced at the locked gate. "Do you think they'll send us out soon?"

"I think they're waiting for a fourth one." Megan fiddled with her leather top, clearly uncomfortable with the amount of skin it was showing. "Don't they usually send people in in batches of four?"

"I don't know. I've never played." Nathaniel felt his face harden. Even if he'd been able to afford it, this kind of game hadn't been his idea of entertainment.

"Neither have I." Megan glanced in his direction, clearly resenting the assumption. "But you hear things, don't you?"

Just then, the door at the far end of the tunnel opened again, and a young man was shoved through. "Hey, be careful!" He shook himself like a wet dog. "Jeeez, would it hurt them to be a little more considerate?"

When he saw them, he swallowed briefly, then pulled himself up to his full height. He was tall and lanky, a little soft around the edges maybe, with longish blond hair and amber brown eyes. The only weapon he'd been allotted was a long, gnarly staff, and he didn't have any kind of armour either. Instead, he was dressed in some kind of long, flowing robes, his shoulders covered in _feathers_, of all things.

Behind Nathaniel, Megan whistled appreciatively. "It seems we're in luck, gentlemen."

"Why?" Carver was doing his best not to look too sheepish.

"Because apparently our team includes a mage!" Megan beamed at the newcomer. "Hey! I'm Megan, and those two are Nate and Carver. Who are you?"

"I'm Anders." The guy smiled back, but he looked nervous. "And I wish I had any idea how to use this thing." He lifted his staff gingerly.

"Didn't they explain?" Nathaniel frowned.

The guy who'd handed him the bow had at least taken the trouble to show him the basics, then had had him practice for an hour or so before sending him off with a good-natured slap on the back. He didn't have a lot of hope that he would actually be able to hit a moving target, but at least he didn't feel like a complete idiot.

"They showed me one setting." Anders rubbed his eyes wearily. "Said there'd be _spell books_ out there, with further instructions."

"Well, then we'll have to keep an eye out for those." Megan seemed undaunted. "I have a feeling some of those tricks could come in useful."

There was no time for further discussions. A set of lights above the gate began to flicker, red, yellow, then green, and they had just about time to gather their belongings before the doors whizzed open.

"Welcome to _The Age of the Dragon_!" A disembodied voice came from the walls. "Give us a good fight, folks. We're counting on you."

Before them, a vast landscape stretched as far as the eye could see. Most of it was covered in forests, but they could make out a river in the distance, and castles in various states of dilapidation on several of the hills. At first sight, it looked charming in a rustic sort of way, with birds singing in the trees and wild flowers growing in patches in the meadows. An idyll, a dream come true, if you compared it to the clinical coldness of the cities outside with their forbidding walls of glass and concrete and their carefully walled-in private gardens.

But, over in the east, storm clouds were gathering and the sun was already close to setting.

"We'd better find shelter soon." Megan stepped out onto the path without hesitation. "Come on. We have no time to lose if we want to survive."


	25. Day 25 – Children

**Day 25 – Children**

"Moooom, I'm bored." Carver stared out of the window, wishing the rain would stop.

Saturday afternoons at home were bad enough when the sun was shining and he could go out in the yard to play ball. In this weather, they were unbearable.

His mother sighed. "Why don't you play with Revon, dear? You two have such a lot of board games."

"Revon says he's busy." He'd also added a few choice insults, but Carver knew better than to tell their mother about this.

Revon never wanted to play with him. Carver pressed his nose harder against the window pane. Other kids had siblings who played with them. Not him. All Revon ever did was disappear up to his room with another library book and grunt at him when he suggested a game. If only Bethy was here, but she was off all weekend, for extra choir practice. Her friend Delilah Howe had gone too. Now, here was a thought…

"Can I go over to the Howes' place and play with Tom?" He put on his best pleading face. "Please, mom?"

"I don't know." Leandra Hawke sighed again. "Mrs Howe mentioned that they have guests this weekend. They may be too busy."

"Maybe they won't mind. Can I call him and ask?"

When his mother nodded, he raced off to get the phone. Fortunately, it was Tom's mother who answered. Carver was a little afraid of Mr. Howe, who always looked so grim. Mrs Howe was much nicer, even though she seemed so sad.

"Of course you can come over, Carver. Tell your mother it's no trouble. We have a house full of kids already and you'll fit right in."

His mom looked doubtful when he relayed the answer, but she didn't object any longer. She was probably just as relieved to see him go, he thought. After all, he wasn't like Bethy or Revon, always with his nose in a book or a school project to finish. He was just Carver, good at sports and not much else. He knew very well she wasn't as proud of him as she was of the others. He could always tell when he had disappointed her again. She'd give him that _look_, with her forehead all creased with worry and her eyes sad and resigned.

The Howes' large, rambling house was just across the road, and it was crowded with people today. He nodded shyly when he was introduced to the visitors. The Cousland family, "very old friends of ours, dear", a nice-looking lady and her husband and two kids, Fergus and Megan.

"Hey, Carver." To his disappointment, Tom barely had time to say hello. "Come on. Nate and Fergus are playing Death Race and they said I could play, too."

Tom didn't know how lucky he was to have Nate as his brother, Carver thought gloomily as they followed the two older boys upstairs. True, Nate was almost as serious as his mother, but he was never mean, like Revon, and he always let Tom join in.

"Want to play too?" Nate's smile was friendly, but he shook his head.

He knew very well he couldn't compete. Tom was really good at the game, but then _he_ got a lot of practice. Carver sat down on Nate's bed and watched as Fergus and Tom raced each other on the game's second most difficult track, their faces flushed with eagerness.

"Hey, I'm Megan." A tousled head of red hair had appeared next to the bed's headboard and a pair of large green eyes were sizing him up. "Want to come and play?"

He shrugged. Her parents had said she was nine, a year older than him, but she looked tiny, almost like one of the first-years at his school. "I don't know. What do you want to do?" He wasn't in the mood for playing with _dolls_, that much was certain.

Her face lit up. "We could play knights and dragons." She pointed at the huge dog who had appeared in the doorway. "Samson here can be the dragon. He's used to it."

Carver deliberated for a moment. "All right. I'll be a knight. You probably want to be a princess, don't you?" Bethany always wanted to be a princess, sitting high up in a tower, brushing her hair and playing the harp.

But Megan just grimaced, freckles dancing all over her small nose. "Nah. Princesses are boring. I'll be an assassin." She grinned. "I'm really good at climbing roofs, you know."

"Assassins don't fight dragons." He felt on firmer ground here.

"Yes, they do." She stamped her foot, her lips set in a firm line. "Assassins can fight everything. They're fast and they're deadly and they have all kinds of cool weapons."

"Well, knights have swords." Carver was confused. He'd never met a girl like her. "And you need a sword to kill a dragon."

"No, you don't." Megan's eyes narrowed. "There's lots of ways to kill a dragon."

Fortunately, Nate intervened at this point, clearly bored with watching the two others race. "Can I help kill the dragon too?"

Megan gave him a doubtful look. "Do you really want to play with _us_?"

"Why not?" Nate shrugged. "Sounds like fun. We could go out into the garden. The rain has stopped."

"Okay," Megan conceded generously. "What do you want to be?"

"I'll be an archer. Like Robin Hood." Nate sounded confident. "Archers are good against dragons. You can weaken them with arrows before you attack."

"Oooooh, yes." Carver could hardly contain his enthusiasm. "What about you, Tom?"

But Tom was hardly listening. Fergus had just agreed to a rematch, and the two of them were wholly caught up in their competition.

"Leave them be." Nate got to his feet and took Megan by the hand. "Come on. Let's see if you are as good at slaying dragons as you claim."

"Of course I am." She sounded indignant, and Carver had to bite back a laugh at her determined expression. "Just you wait."


	26. Day 26 - Seniors

**Day 26 – Seniors**

_A/N: So, this was another difficult prompt, since all three of them are Wardens, and Wardens, as we all know, don't get to grow old. Ever. Originally, I had planned a cozy AU, with the three of them sitting on a porch surrounded by cute little grandbabies, but then this happened. And now I've gone and hurt myself __*sobs*__._

* * *

Nathaniel was the first to notice. Of course. He knew her better than anyone else.

As she was getting ready for bed, wincing at the pain in her lower back when she bent down to take off her pants, he stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms loosely around her.

"You look tired. And unwell." He sounded worried and, much as she hated to admit it, he had reason to.

Sleepless nights were apt to leave their traces nowadays. When she'd seen her face in the mirror in the morning, she'd hardly recognized herself: deep rings under her eyes, her skin grey and clammy, and her whole face puffy and swollen.

"I didn't sleep well." She reached for her brush, but he caught her wrist and made her turn around so she was facing him.

"I noticed." He sighed. "What's going on, Meg?"

"You know very well what's going on." Try as she might, she couldn't quite keep the despair out of her voice. "It's time."

His hands tightened around her waist, so hard she gasped for breath. "It can't be. Not yet."

The pain in his voice was too raw. She couldn't bear it, but she forced herself to speak, even tried to sound flippant. "I'm forty-two, Nate. In all honesty, I never expected to reach this ripe old age."

The sound from his throat was almost a sob. "It's still far too early. Stop it, Meg. You're anything but old!"

Of course he was right. She didn't feel old; in fact, she felt much the same as she had twenty years ago. And she was still pretty, even if she had wrinkles around her eyes nowadays, and her breasts weren't quite what they used to be. Not that the boys seemed to mind. But then, they were hardly _boys_ any more themselves. There were more than a few strands of grey in Nathaniel's long hair, and he had his share of crows' feet, too. His arrows still flew true, but he avoided patrol duty these days and preferred to deal with administrative stuff, claiming he'd slept rough often enough for one lifetime. He, too, had grown a bit tired. None of it mattered. She would always love him, always want him.

"It's been more than twenty years, Nate. I've been luckier than most Wardens, but I can't ignore the signs any longer." _Though I've tried._ She bit her lip hard. The nightmares, the fever, the buzzing sound in her ears when all else was silent. She'd known for some time, but some part of her had refused to accept it.

"Maybe you're just exhausted." He ran a hand down her back, and she knew he was surreptitiously checking for marks, tell-tale blemishes on her pale skin. There weren't any, not yet, but it was just a matter of time.

"No." She shook her head. "It's the Calling. I know it, and so will you when it's your turn. It's time for me to leave."

"I'm coming with you." His face was stubborn, but she had expected as much and had her answer ready.

"No, you won't." Ignoring his angry hiss, she went on. "I want you to stay and take over as Warden Commander."

"What's the point?" He held her gaze. "Let me come with you. I won't have much longer anyway."

"You don't know that." She shook her head. "You may have a few more years. The Wardens need you. Carver needs you. We can't both leave him. It would break him."

"What are you talking about?" And there he was. Carver. He was leaning against the doorframe, and the confused expression flitting over his face made him momentarily look as young and vulnerable as he had when she'd first set eyes on him, so long ago.

He had changed so much, though, grown more relaxed and confident with each passing year. Twenty years of wielding a two-hander had left him with broad shoulders and a massive back, and with scars all over his muscular body. His skin was permanently tanned from spending the days out in the training yards with the new recruits, and his thick black hair was growing silvery at the temples. Which was damnably attractive, really. Megan knew that scores of recruits of both sexes swooned over Warden Lieutenant Hawke.

"Carver." She smiled tentatively at him, motioning for him to join them. "There's something I need to tell you."

He embraced both of them tightly, but he buried his face in her hair to avoid looking into in her eyes. "Your Calling."

She nodded, leaning her head against his wide chest. "I'm leaving after Summerday."

"That's only two weeks!" Nathaniel freed himself from their arms, his face agitated. "Why the rush? You can't-"

"I can, and I will." She straightened up, looking deliberately at him. "You've seen Utha, Nate. I... I don't want you to remember me like that. I'm leaving in two weeks, and the two of you are going to stay here."

"But, Meg..." Carver was obviously doing his best to sound calm, but there was an unmistakable tremor in his voice. "You can't go alone. The Darkspawn-"

"They'll be waiting for you." Nathaniel's face was grim. "You're no ordinary Warden, Meg. You killed an Archdemon, and scores of broodmothers and emissaries besides. As soon as you set foot in the Deep Roads, they'll be all over you, tearing you to pieces. If you're lucky," he added darkly.

Megan shuddered at this reminder of what would happen if she was taken alive. "You don't need to worry. I won't be alone." She swallowed down a sob. "I've spoken to Alistair. He... It's time for him, too. We'll leave together."

"So, I can't join you, but he can!" Nathaniel's face was dark with fury. "Damn it, Megan, my place is at your side. I won't allow this."

"Oh yes, you will." She was getting angry herself now, but anger was good. It would help her to do what had to be done. "I need you to stay, Nate. I need you to be with Carver. And I won't let your last memory of me be marred by the taint." She took a deep breath, feeling suddenly exhausted beyond measure. "This is my decision to make, Nate. Please don't make it more difficult than it already is."

He sank down on the edge of the bed, hiding his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking convulsively.

"Nate." She walked over to him and put an arm around him, pulling Carver along with her. They would have to be strong, all three of them, and she wanted them to have each other. "Nate, please. I love you so much. Both of you."

Carver was crying openly, but he kept silent. Her heart was breaking for him. He had lost so much already, his whole family torn from him when he was barely more than a boy.

"There's got to be something we can do." Carver took her hand, pressing a feverish kiss on the palm. "Maybe Anders-"

She shook her head. "There's nothing Anders can do about this, love. Nothing anyone can do." She forced herself to smile. "Promise me you'll take care of Nate for me. Maker knows, he needs looking after."

"Meg!" Nathaniel glanced up at her darkly. "This is not the time for your jokes."

"I wasn't joking." Megan kissed him softly, then with more insistence, and he kissed her back with such fierceness that it left her breathless.

When his hands settled on her breasts, she hesitated for a moment, but then she melted into his touch with a small sigh, moaning when Carver kissed her neck. She could give them this, at least. For a little while longer, she could share this with them.

Just a little while longer. Until the shadows would claim her.


	27. Day 27 - Family

**Day 27 – Family**

_A/N: Once again, this is not a proper AU, but a scene set at the same time as "Keeping You Warm", showing what Nate, Meg and Carver are up to while Thorin and Sigrun are in Orzammar. I've been wanting to write this for some time, and it really fits the family prompt, I think._

* * *

Nathaniel had a hard time hiding his concern when he saw Carver's strained expression. Ever since his brother Revon had arrived at the Keep the afternoon before, Carver had been tense, his face as sulky and withdrawn as it had been when he'd first become a Warden. And, when Nathaniel had tried to touch him at dinner in an effort to calm him, just a hand on top of his, he'd flinched back, skittish like a wild animal.

"What's going on, Carver?" He tried again, this time with a hand on his shoulder. Normally, Carver would have leaned into his touch, relishing the contact, but instead he grew stiff, his jaw working furiously. Nathaniel quickly pulled his hand back, but he was baffled. Baffled and hurt. It must have shown on his face, because Carver visibly relented.

"I'm sorry, Nate. It's not your fault." He tilted his head toward the neighbouring table. "It's _him_."

Nathaniel followed his gaze over to where Revon was seated next to Megan with Velanna and Justice on the opposite side of the table. Revon Hawke, apostate mage and Champion of Kirkwall. Tall, dark, and handsome - if you liked that type, and a lot of people probably did. Pronounced cheekbones, dark stubble on his cheeks, an ironic twist around his full mouth, exotic tattoos around his dark brown eyes – Revon was attractive, no doubt about it, and he knew it very well.

Carver was practically chafing at the bit. "Look at him! I wonder why he showed up here."

Nathaniel shrugged. "He had a bunch of apostates with him. Said they wanted to join the Wardens."

"I'm pretty sure that's not the only reason." Carver finished his wine, then plunked his goblet onto the table with an angry sigh.

Revon got to his feet and left with Megan, without so much as a glance at his brother. Justice remained seated, a thoughtful expression on his skeletal features, but Velanna came over to join them.

"Your brother's quite the charmer, Carver." She seemed uncharacteristically relaxed.

Carver shook his head. "You'd better steer clear of him, Velanna. He's… not what he seems."

"You're just jealous." Velanna snorted contemptuously. "It must be hard for you to have a brother like him."

"More than you know." To Nathaniel's surprise, Carver refused to let himself be baited. "Really, Velanna, I'm not trying to rain on your parade. Revon… He's not interested in you as a person. He has a thing for elves. Ever since he was old enough to care, he's tried to seduce every single elf he met. There's a girl back in Kirkwall, and maybe others. You're nothing to him but a pair of pointy ears and an extra flexible body."

Velanna's face darkened. "If that's true-" She got to her feet and stalked off.

"Ouch!" Nathaniel flinched. "Is he really that bad?"

"Worse." Carver shook himself like a wet dog. "Just you wait."

They didn't have to wait for long. Nathaniel had just joined Carver for breakfast at the long table the next morning when Revon showed up and steered straight towards them, his handsome face marred by an ugly sneer.

"Little brother. What did you tell Velanna?" His voice was icy-cold.

Carver took a deep breath. "Nothing but the truth, Rev. Why don't you leave her alone? Merrill doesn't deserve this."

"That is hardly your problem." Revon's face remained smooth, but a muscle near his left temple was twitching, as if he was having a hard time controlling his features. "Keep out of my affairs, Carver. I didn't want your opinion back in Kirkwall, and I definitely don't want it now. I won't warn you again."

"You're out of line." Nathaniel couldn't keep silent any longer. "You're a guest here and-"

"Ah, Nathaniel _Howe_." Revon turned to face him with a sudden glib smile. "How very nice to meet the traitor's son. Really, Carver, I never expected much of you, but actually letting yourself be buggered by the likes of _him_-"

"It's news to me that you have a problem with that, Rev." Carver's fists clenched hard, but he kept his temper. Nathaniel rather admired his restraint. "I definitely recall you sneaking out of Fenris' mansion in the morning, more than once."

Revon snickered triumphantly. "Ah, but you see, that's a different thing altogether, little brother. With Fenris, I always make damn sure that I'm the one who does the buggering. Wouldn't want to give the elf any ideas."

"You-" This time Carver couldn't stop himself from surging to his feet.

Nathaniel quickly grabbed his arm. "Stop it, love, it's not worth it."

"Exactly." Revon's smile was as cold as his voice. "Be a good boy. I'm sure your Commander will have a generous reward for you."

"Indeed she will." Neither of them had heard Megan come in. She _was_ one of the best rogues in Thedas, after all. "I will see you in my study later today, Revon. Until then, I'd appreciate it if you retired to your room." Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were flashing fire.

Revon didn't deign to reply, but withdrew with a smirk. Carver was still trembling by the time the door had closed behind him.

"Maker, Carver." Nathaniel wrapped an arm around the younger man's shoulders, pulling him close. "I used to think you just had a bad case of sibling rivalry going on, but this…"

Megan stepped closer and gently stroked Carver's cheek. "What a jerk! How come you turned out so nice?"

Carver laughed shakily. "No idea. He's not usually quite that bad in front of strangers, though. I'm sorry to have inflicted him on you two."

"Not your fault." Nathaniel shook his head. "Maker knows, I'm not in a position to hold any man responsible for his family."

"Neither am I." Megan took his hand and pressed it briefly. "Don't forget Fergus making an ass of himself."

Nathaniel didn't answer right away. Megan's brother had been refusing to talk to her for over a year, ever since he'd learned that she was sleeping with Rendon Howe's son. It was understandable, perhaps. Fergus had lost his beloved wife and son to Arl Rendon's machinations. Still, Nathaniel knew it hurt Megan, who had always been on good terms with her brother. Heck, it hurt him too. There had been a time when Fergus had been his best friend.

"None of us get to choose our birth family." He sighed wearily. "At least we get to build our own families later in life."

"True." Megan smiled at both of them. "And I couldn't be happier with my choices. Come on now, there's a lot to do. Those new recruits will need help finding their way around the Keep."

* * *

That night, as they were getting ready for bed, Nathaniel stepped behind Carver, breathing a kiss on his neck. "About what your brother said today…"

Carver closed his eyes, a deep line furrowing his forehead. "No need to listen to his venom, Nate. I know better."

"I'm just saying…" Nathaniel took a deep breath. "If you should ever wish to… reverse roles, I'd be willing. For you." Maker, he was _nervous_. "Though it's been some time and-"

"Nate." Carver had twisted around in his arms and pulled him closer. "You don't have to prove anything to me, you know."

"It's not that." Nathaniel realized he was blushing. "Just… I don't want you to feel you have to do what I want, that I'm in charge and you are somehow… less."

"Never." Carver kissed him softly. "Don't worry. We haven't done a thing that I didn't want myself." An unexpected smile made his face light up. "Even if I might not have known before that I wanted it."

Megan had kept quiet so far. Now, she had somehow managed to insinuate her naked body between theirs, facing Carver. "Glad to hear that. And anyway…" She moaned happily as Nathaniel's hand found her breast. "Obviously, _I_ am the one who should be in charge here." She grinned broadly, even as the flush on her face betrayed her growing arousal. "And I am perfectly happy with whatever position the two of you end up in."


	28. Day 28 - Race Bending

**Day 28 – Race Bending**

_A/N: This is the DA universe, so I decided to interpret this prompt a little differently. In this story, Megan is a dwarf (Maret Aeducan) and Nate a Dalish elf called Tanael. And, yeah, I'm perfectly aware that this would have been a great opportunity to explore several topics of great socio-political importance. But somehow, it ended up as mostly smut. No idea how that happened ;)_

* * *

The hurlock went down with a satisfying thud, blood spouting from its many wounds, spattering Carver's hands and face. He spun around on his heels to check on Tanael. He needn't have worried, though. The second hurlock was down as well, an arrow protruding from his left eye. The elf danced back with a triumphant laugh.

Maret was nowhere to be seen. The last thing he remembered was her chasing a pack of genlocks down a tunnel with Nug, her trusted mabari, at her side. There was no reason to worry about her. The Commander knew how to take care of herself and so did Nug.

"You okay?" Carver sheathed his sword in one smooth move.

"Fine." Before he knew what was happening, Tanael was right before him, grabbing him by his jerkin and pushing him back against the wall. "More than fine."

Hard lips were suddenly on his in a wild, feral kiss and, to his eternal surprise, Carver found himself kissing the other man back with equal fervour. It lasted only moments and, when Tanael pulled back, he shook his head in confusion. "What-"

"Oh, come on, Carver." Tanael's grey eyes were half-closed. "All those smouldering gazes in my direction lately? Don't you think it's about time you admitted it?"

"Admitted what?" Carver was breathing hard. "There's nothing to admit. I like women. I like Maret."

There was a sparkle of amusement in Tanael's gaze. "Everyone likes Maret. Doesn't mean you can't _like_ me, too. I wouldn't mind if you were interested, and I'm sure neither would she." He leaned in and traced Carver's lower lip teasingly with his tongue. "Your body certainly seems to be on board with the idea."

Carver followed his gaze down to where his obvious arousal was pressed hard against the elf's thigh. And there could be no doubt that Tanael was equally affected.

He shrugged. "Heat of the battle. It happens."

Tanael stepped back, raising an eyebrow, but there was no trace of anger on his handsome, tattooed face. "You tell yourself that."

Carver opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but Tanael stopped him with a gesture. "It's all right. I understand if you'd rather not act upon your feelings."

"That's not-" He couldn't even explain why Tanael's words made him so angry, and there was no time to think about it further.

"Come on!" Maret was back, just as blood-spattered as they were, but with a bright smile on her sweet round face. "We need to go further down. My Warden senses are going wild. If I'm not very much mistaken, there's a broodmother here."

"Commander, I-" Tanael had gone pale. "You know I'd follow you to the Black City itself, but those pits-"

"It's all right." Maret's features softened. "I know it's hard on you elves. You don't have to go further down with us. But what will you do in the meantime?"

"I have a thing or two to settle with a bandit leader in the Wending Wood." Tanael's face had darkened. "Now's as good a time as any."

"Are you sure?" Carver felt a flash of unease. "It seems unwise to go alone."

"I'll be fine." Tanael shrugged. "It will hardly be more dangerous than facing a broodmother."

"True." Maret grinned. "Let's get on our way, then. We'll meet you at the old stone bridge, ten days from now. Go with the blessings of the Ancestors, Tanael. And may your Creators keep you safe on the surface."

When they said good-bye, Carver caught the elf's gaze. This was important, even though he wasn't sure why. "If anything happens to you, I'll find you. I promise."

Tanael's answering smile stayed with him all through the ensuing battle against the broodmother.

* * *

They made it back to the surface in time for their rendezvous but, when they arrived at their appointed meeting spot, Tanael wasn't there. They waited for more than a day, but in vain. When the third morning dawned, Carver approached Maret. He didn't even know why he felt so troubled, and he was fumbling for words to explain his concern.

She just nodded, flashing him a quick smile. "Off you go. I can see you're worried sick about him, and I can't keep up with your long legs. I'll catch up with you soon enough. Nug should have no problem following your tracks."

Without further hesitation, he was on his way.

He found Tanael in a small clearing in the middle of the Wending Wood. The wound on his arm had already turned an angry red, and his forehead was clammy, the smooth skin so pale that the fine lines of his _vallaslin_ seemed far more prominent than usual. Carver knelt down at his side with a worried look. "You need help."

"I do." Even through the haze of pain, Tanael smiled up at him. "You're alive."

"And so are you. Just about." Carefully, he placed a poultice on the wound and dug in his satchel for an elfroot potion. Tanael drained the vial he handed him with shaking hands and fell asleep almost immediately. Propped up next to him against the trunk of a tree, Carver allowed himself to rest for a while.

* * *

When Tanael opened his eyes in the morning, they were clear, and he looked much healthier. "Thank you. Without you, I'm not sure I would have made it."

Once again, Carver hesitated, unsure of what to say, but he was spared an answer as Tanael took hold of his hand and pulled him down into a kiss. A very different kiss this time, much less aggressive, gentle and sweet.

The forest was quiet around them, the first rays of sun speckling the mossy floor next to them, warming the skin on his arms and neck. And Tanael was warm and alive under him, all hard lines and sharp angles, yet yielding against him in a blatant invitation he simply couldn't resist. The sudden spike of _want_ left him nearly breathless.

Over and over again their lips found each other, each kiss deeper and more passionate than the last. The elf made no attempt to rid them of their clothes, but it was easy enough to feel each other's response through the thin leather they were wearing, easy enough to align themselves for maximum friction, easy enough to taste each other's skin and breathe each other's scent. Tanael smelled of herbs and wood smoke, of the forest and the earth surrounding them, musky and intoxicating. And his mouth was eager and skilled against Carver's bare neck.

They moved in an unconscious rhythm, picking up speed as they neared their completion, both of them panting heavily by the time they finished, almost at the same time, spilling inside their clothes without shame or embarrassment.

"Carver…" Tanael's voice was hoarse and shaky when they both stilled. "You're here. You came for me."

"I said I would. And Maret's not far behind." Carver pulled back, examining the bandage on the elf's arm with a worried frown. "Tell me what happened."

"The bandits were easily dealt with, but then I ran into a pack of crazed wolves." Tanael flinched in pain as the poultice came off. The wound looked much better, though. "I could have dealt with them on my own, but-" He broke off. "No matter. I'm glad you're here."

"So am I." Carver sat up, grimacing when he felt his messed-up clothes sticking to his belly. "Come on. Maret will be here soon. We both need a bath, and there's a little stream nearby."

Tanael followed willingly. Down at the stream, they quickly got rid of their clothes and waded into the shallow water. Carver found a flat boulder on the bank where he could sit comfortably, his legs dangling into the water.

"Come. I can help you with your hair." He glanced shyly at Tanael's naked body.

Compared to his own muscular build, the elf looked almost fragile, but there wasn't an ounce of fat on his lean body and Carver knew from experience how strong he was. Tanael complied willingly, arranging himself between Carver's thighs with his back to the young man, sighing with pleasure when Carver ran a hand through his hair and accidentally touched the tip of his right ear. Intrigued, Carver touched him there again, which drew a longer sigh from his lips.

Carver forced himself to focus on soaping the long black strands but, when he'd finished, his hand trailed down Tanael's lithe body as if it had a will of its own, until his fist closed around the elf's half-hard cock. Tanael arched back against him, his wet body pressed hard against Carver, his breath coming in quick, hard gasps.

"Oh, Ancestors, I'm so sorry. Please don't mind me." Carver's head flew up at the sound of Maret's voice. She was there, on the other side of the stream, staring at them with big round eyes, shock and arousal warring on her features. "I didn't mean to disturb you. I'll just-"

"Maret. It's fine. No need for you to leave." Tanael was still breathing hard, and his voice sounded even more hoarse than usual, but he seemed perfectly at ease in Carver's arms.

"What do you mean?" Maret was blushing, but she made no move to leave.

Carver inhaled sharply. Judging from their demeanour, there seemed to be some truth to the rumours that Tanael had been sleeping with the Commander. He didn't really know how he himself felt about her staying, though. Sure, she was cute and he'd admired her for the longest time, but-

"Just come in." Tanael seemed a lot less worried. "I'm sure you'd enjoy a bath as well."

For a heartbeat, it seemed as if Maret would speak again, but then her lips set in a determined line and she began taking off her leather armour. Carver watched, unable to take his eyes off her as she threw off her shirt, then got out of her tight leather pants. She was short, of course, but her body was trim and taut, and the wide curve of her hips perfectly balanced out her full breasts. Tanael watched her just as eagerly, pressing his cock firmly into Carver's hand. He was fully hard by now, and so was Carver.

When Maret made her way through the water over to them and melted into the elf's arms, Carver could no longer hold back the moan escaping from his throat. Not even in his wildest dreams could he ever have imagined a scenario like this; both of them naked in his arms, naked and more than willing. He knew he would kill anyone who interrupted them now.

* * *

"Damn crazy elf," Carver muttered, his voice thick with arousal. "You're both crazy."

He couldn't even say how they had ended up like this, in a woodcutter's shack, with Nug guarding the door outside. But here they were, him leaning against the rough wooden planks and Maret and Tanael on their knees before him; the elf's eager lips wrapped around his cock. It had all been a whirlwind of hot and feverish caresses, lingering kisses and urgent touches. He dimly remembered getting out of the water at some point and finding their clothes, only to look for a quiet place where they could continue their frenzied love-making.

But even now, almost two days later, he didn't think he'd ever get enough of the sight in front of his eyes: Tanael's lips stretching around him; those gorgeous cheekbones even more pronounced as he hollowed his cheeks; long strands of black hair tangled around Carver's hands; clear grey eyes looking up at him with such desire, such _need_; and Maret's small hand wrapped around the elf's long, slim cock, stroking him roughly. It was enough to make a man lose his mind.

Tanael was far more skilled and experienced than he'd ever guessed at, though perhaps that shouldn't have been a surprise. For all their serene demeanour, most elves he knew were passionate and fiery, and, of course, Tanael's long graceful hands were as clever in bed as they were with a bow and arrows. By comparison, Carver felt clumsy and clueless, and he had a feeling so did Maret. But Tanael was patient and took his time teaching him, teaching them both.

Now was not the time for such considerations, though, not with the way Tanael's tongue was flicking against his aching flesh, sending him into a rapidly ascending spiral of pleasure. He was close already, so close, his fist tightening in the elf's hair, yanking far too hard really, but Tanael gave no sign of anything but the sincerest pleasure. Closing his eyes, Carver abandoned all pretence of control and came hard, shaking with the force of it, a rough groan torn from his lips.

His knees felt weak, so he allowed himself to sink down onto the floor, embracing them both and pulling Tanael into a long, deep kiss. He could taste himself on the other man's tongue, hot and salty. Maret laughed breathlessly and kept stroking Tanael, rough and fast, until the elf spilled in her hands with a ragged groan. Together, they teamed up on Maret, sucking and licking at her until she cried out sharply, slumping against them both, boneless and spent

"Damn it." Tanael was breathing heavily. "The two of you will be the death of me." His lips were hot against Carver's ear. "Tonight, I want you inside me."

Maret was close enough to hear him and she mewled like a kitten at his words. Carver's stomach lurched in apprehension at the elf's words but, at the same time, his cock twitched eagerly, despite their earlier exertions. Tanael chuckled, making Carver wonder if he'd felt both reactions.

"Don't worry. You are going to like it." There was an absolute conviction in Tanael's tone. "And so am I."

"What about me?" Maret tossed back her braids, pouting adorably.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find a way to make you happy too." Tanael was positively purring. "Don't you think, Carver?"


	29. Day 29 - Pirates

**Day 29 – Pirates**

_A/N: Once again, this is almost pure PWP. I'm not even sorry._

* * *

The rum was delicious, burning a blaze down his throat and lighting a fire in his stomach. Nathaniel took another sip as he leaned back in his seat, watching the scene unfolding before his eyes with avid interest.

* * *

They had been hunting smugglers in Amaranthine, to help out poor Constable Aidan. The once-proud town had never recovered from the darkspawn attack, was hardly more than a fishing port nowadays, and the city watch was struggling to keep the criminal elements at bay. He, Megan, and Carver had followed the trail to a shabby tavern near the docks. The barkeep had been surly and less than forthcoming with information, and they'd been ready to give up when they had run into the pirate.

"Carver Hawke! What are you doing in this rat hole?" Her bored drawl couldn't quite mask the genuine pleasure in her expression as she embraced Carver.

"Isabela." Carver was actually kissing her back, his face lighting up in a happy smile. "You look great!"

Nathaniel was inclined to agree. None of Carver's stories had prepared him for the reality of Isabela – dark skin, a dazzling smile, raven-black hair and full red lips - her curvy body proudly on display in a tight white tunic and thigh-high boots. She was gorgeous and confident and dangerous - every inch the pirate.

"And if it isn't the Warden Commander of Ferelden herself! I never thought we'd meet again this side of the void, Meg." Isabela beamed at Megan and kissed her soundly on both cheeks.

"Isabela. Good to see you. Meet my second-in-command, Nathaniel Howe." Megan looked pleased too, if a little wary, as the pirate shook hands with Nathaniel. "What are _you_ doing here? I thought you'd settled down over in Kirkwall."

"A pirate never settles down for long, sweet thing. Besides, I have a new ship. Want to come and see her for yourself?" The pirate's smile was proud.

Megan hesitated, but then she shrugged. "Why not? It's not like we're making progress here."

Together, they headed for the docks, glad to leave the stale air of the tavern behind. The pirate's ship was docked at the outermost pier – a slim, fast sloop named the _Ocean's Strumpet_. "Isn't she lovely?" Isabela's tone was tender. "One thing to say for that raving madman you call your brother, Carver. He got me a ship."

"About the only good thing he's done lately," Carver muttered under his breath.

"Come aboard." The pirate grinned. "Say, Megan, do you still remember what I taught you, back in Denerim?"

"Your duelist's tricks?" Megan nodded. "You bet I do. They've come in handy from time to time."

"Let me see." Isabela reached for the two slim daggers strapped to her back.

Instinctively, Nathaniel tensed, though he knew Megan was perfectly able to defend herself. And, sure enough, her own daggers were already out, gleaming in the afternoon sun as she fell into a fighting stance. Isabela beamed with delight and mirrored the motion, her eyes firmly fixed on Megan. Nathaniel glanced at Carver, but the other man seemed unconcerned, leaning back against the railing with a broad grin.

"This should be fun to watch." Carver's voice sounded rough, and Nathaniel, following his gaze, felt his own throat go tight.

The two women were circling each other like large predatory cats, sure on their feet, focussed on each other's tiniest signals. When they finally engaged, their blades met for mere seconds before they retreated again, almost too fast for the eye to follow. Megan charged again, Isabela parried with a giddy laugh, feinted, withdrew, only just evaded another attack, and snuck in one of her own. Both of them were incredibly quick on their feet, sure of themselves and their abilities, ruthlessly pressing every advantage.

And yet, it looked less a fight than a dance, Nathaniel mused, despite the deadly edges of their blades; a beautiful, graceful whirlwind; two masterful performers coming together to create a perfect whole. Next to him, Carver was watching with rapt attention, his face flushed with excitement and his eyes shining with admiration.

There was no way of telling which of the two was the better fighter. But, in the end, Isabela managed to trick Megan into a freshly scrubbed corner of the deck. Her feet slipped the tiniest bit on a plank, and though she quickly regained her balance, the pirate didn't need more than that split second to pin her to the railing, a dagger pressed to her throat.

"That was cheating." Megan's breath was coming in quick, hard gasps, and she pretended to frown, but her whole face was shining with happiness.

"Well, duh. Pirate, remember?" Isabela winked at her as she sheathed the dagger, running a teasing finger along Megan's throat. "Come on. My cabin is freshly re-fitted and I've had a barrel of rum delivered this morning. Time for a drink!"

* * *

They'd all made themselves comfortable in the captain's cabin, Carver and Nathaniel in a pair of armchairs, Megan and Isabela on the big, fur-covered bed, each with a generously filled glass of rum in their hands.

"Your ship's a beauty, Isabela." Megan ran her hand appreciatively over the dark wooden panelling. "And I bet she's fast and deadly. Those fat merchantmen from Orlais better beware!"

"Ain't that the truth." Isabela raised her glass to toast Megan. "I've said it before, and I'll say it again: You'd make a damn fine pirate, sweet thing. Is there no way I can entice you to leave your order and sign up with me? That goes for the two of you as well, of course." She included Nathaniel and Carver with an expansive gesture.

Megan grinned. "I told you, I don't know the first thing about sailing. Besides, I'd say we're quite happy with the way things are."

Isabela's smile was sly. "So, the rumours are true?"

"Depends on the rumours." Megan stretched languorously on the bed, wiggling out of her coat. "What is it they say?"

"They say the Warden Commander has not one, but _two_ big strong wardens to warm her bed." The pirate's smile became almost predatory as she glanced over at the two men. "You know, I was wondering whether you might be persuaded to share a little of that bounty."

Megan shrugged nonchalantly. "They're both free to do as they please."

"Are they?" Isabela was positively purring. "But, you may have noticed, my dear, that I said I'd like to _share_, rather than _borrow_." Her eyes were firmly fixed on Megan now. "You know what they say – men are only good for one thing. Women are good for six."

There was a brief pause. Megan's gaze flitted over to him and Carver, then she raised her chin, accepting the challenge. "Now you've made me curious."

"That was my intention." Isabela put down her glass.

Nathaniel watched in fascination as the pirate moved closer and took hold of Megan's chin, pulling her into a long kiss. When Isabela undid the lacings of her shirt, Megan didn't resist. In fact, judging from the flush on her pale skin, she seemed to be enjoying herself, but her response was uncharacteristically subdued. He smiled to himself. It was fascinating to see her like this, cautiously feeling her way through a scenario that was as unsettling as it was exciting.

Next to him, Carver gasped audibly, then got to his feet and made his way to the bed, getting rid of his leathers on the way there. Taking his place behind Isabela, he peeled the tunic off her shoulders, pushing it down to reveal her breasts. He cupped them with both hands, an expression of sheer bliss on his face. Nathaniel couldn't blame him. Isabela had perfect breasts, full and heavy, yet round and firm. Next to her luscious curves, Megan's slim body looked almost delicate, if no less enticing.

The pirate ran a skilled hand all the way down Megan's bare torso, down to the waistband of her pants, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in her wake. "Off," she commanded, drawing another gasp from Carver. Nathaniel's fingers were clenched hard around the armrests of the chair but, for some reason, he held back. He wasn't quite sure why. Maybe because it was far too arousing to watch them, so much so that he feared he wouldn't be able to control himself once he got directly involved.

Isabela pulled Megan's pants down in one swift move and stood back for a moment, wiggling out of her own tunic and stepping out of her boots and underpants. She was even more stunning fully naked, with nothing but her golden gorget and a pair of earrings adorning her smooth brown skin. Nathaniel's pants had grown so tight it _hurt_, and he fumbled with his laces, eager for some relief.

Carver moved behind Megan, up to the bed's headboard, cradling her in his arms and spreading her wide open for Isabela, and whispering something in her ear that made her bite her lip. He had undressed completely, too, and Nathaniel felt dizzy with all this naked skin on display for him; three beautiful bare bodies arranged on the bed like an intricate tableau of lust and debauchery. Isabela was kneeling between Megan's thighs, bending down to taste her. A groan escaped his lips at the sight, and Isabela glanced back over her shoulder to wink at him, then wiggled her round ass enticingly at him.

Nathaniel knew an invitation when he saw it, and he also knew the time for waiting and watching was well and truly over. Slowly, he got to his feet and threw off his clothes, moving in behind the pirate, and running a hand all the way down her spine and between her legs. She was wet and hot, but he took his time caressing her, thoroughly relishing the way she pushed herself into his touch. Carver was watching them, breathing hard, his eyes almost feverishly hot and his arms tight around Megan's trembling body. And Megan…

Even as he pushed two fingers deep inside Isabela, Nathaniel couldn't take his eyes off the woman he loved. She was writhing under the pirate's expert caresses, making small noises that made it abundantly clear how close she was. Some small part of him wanted to push Isabela out of the way, heck, to shove even Carver off the bed, to take Megan for himself, possess her, make her all his. And, at the same time, he was incredibly turned on by seeing her like this, her fingers tugging the long black strands of Isabela's hair as her voice rose to a high-pitched whine.

And, he wanted Isabela too, with an urgency that became harder to control with each minute until he gave up all restraint and aligned himself, burying his cock inside her with a single, hard stroke. Isabela cried out at this, pausing for a moment in what she was doing to Megan to roll her hips once against him. He couldn't help echoing her cry.

"Maker!" Carver's voice sounded strangled. He was still holding Megan, his cock trapped against her naked body. _He must be close to going mad over there, with the way she's wriggling._

"Soon." Nathaniel caught his gaze, a silent promise travelling between them. "Just-"

Megan _screamed_, bucking up hard as her climax hit her, and Nathaniel lost control, thrusting deep into Isabela's willing body. The pirate kept up with his every move, begging hoarsely for _deeper, harder, more,_ until they both collapsed on the bed, spent and trembling and utterly exhausted.

Yet, Nathaniel had a promise to keep. While Isabela embraced Megan, muttering endearments and breathing feather light kisses on her cheeks, he turned to Carver.

"Nate." The younger man was shaking with pent-up need. "Please…"

He nodded once, and wrapped his lips around Carver's aching flesh without further hesitation. It didn't take much effort, and even less subtlety. Within moments, Carver's hands tightened on his shoulders as he came hard, every muscle in his body tense as a rope.

"Mmmhmm, lovely." Isabela yawned, sleepy and contented. "You know, Meg, I can definitely see the appeal in this… arrangement of yours."

Megan curled up on the bed with a lazy, satisfied smile. "Yeah. I thought you would."

"And you're quite sure you don't want to sail off into the sunset with me?" The pirate sounded positively wistful.

"Tempting, but no." Megan grinned. "Or do you honestly think we would ever get around to pirating?"


	30. Day 30 – Your Life

**Day 30 – Your Life**

_A/N: All right, guys, this is as close to my real life as I will ever get on the internet (minus the hot author on the phone, unfortunately). Not my private life, rather my professional one, but, trust me, a truly depressing amount of RL went into this piece. Let's just call it therapy, okay?_

* * *

Megan felt her feet get heavier with each step she took toward the front door. _Going to work used to be so much fun. _For years, she'd told everybody she'd landed her dream job, here at Vigil Press, a small but distinguished publisher of fantasy novels. Lovely colleagues, understanding bosses, and interesting tasks – it had been all a girl could have asked for. Nowadays, though…

She yawned as she unlocked the door to her office and switched on her computer. _A cup of tea first._ Velanna was already in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee, her face even paler than usual, her lips set in a thin line.

"What's the matter?" Megan smiled at her without expecting a smile in return.

"Fucking new system is down again." Velanna kicked the bin open with her high-heeled shoe, an expression of pure disgust on her aristocratic features. "That's it. That's the last straw. I'm not touching the sodding thing anymore."

Of all her colleagues, Velanna was the one who hated the changes most. Not that any of them were happy with last year's developments. It had started innocently enough, with a perky mail from management, announcing that they would become "part of the successful Weisshaupt Books family". Apparently, the giant publishing company from the Anderfels had made an offer that the shareholders couldn't refuse. But, of course, they'd assured everyone that nothing would change. "Our core values will remain intact_._"Megan snorted at the memory.

Weisshaupt had sent in a new CEO straight away. Alex Stroud, "a highly successful manager from Orlais, with lots of experience in implementing structural reforms." He had arrived in a big shiny car, surrounded by ambitious young men in dark suits and impeccably polished black shoes. She had looked up his credentials on the internet and had found no ties whatsoever to the publishing world. Just a long string of companies he had led through "change processes," leaving behind only empty husks.

Old MacTir had been offered a seat on the board, but had declined with a contemptuous snarl. Mrs. Woolsey, his secretary, had relayed his parting words to the other employees in a hushed voice. "I won't stay and watch as everything I've worked for goes down the drain. And I certainly won't support any of the measures you have in mind."

Mrs. Woolsey had been among the first who'd had to leave, replaced by a pretty young brunette with long legs and a vapid smile. Mr Stroud's _personal assistant, _Miss Bryland.

"Come on, Vel." Megan did her best to soothe her colleague. "You can't refuse. They'll fire you, and then what will become of me in this madhouse, without you to keep me sane?"

"Honestly, Meg, I don't care any longer." Shit, Velanna sounded really desperate this time. "Maker knows, I've tried to put up with the craziness for as long as I could. But I haven't even gotten around to looking at my manuscripts once all week. I spent all of yesterday trying to sort out the content management system, and then it crashed again, and I could kiss all my work goodbye. I've got three training courses coming up next week, and about ten forms to fill in. My authors are starting to ask if I no longer care about their work." Velanna took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. "Let them fire me. The sooner we all get out of here, the better."

Megan didn't answer. If she was honest, Velanna's words were nothing but the truth. Not for the first time, she wished she'd been among the first batch of editors who had been offered generous severance packages last year. _Anything to get rid of them without a fuss. _

Within days after Stroud's arrival, the place had been crawling with consultants from at least three different firms. Blackstone LLP, Flint Consulting, Kadan & Fe – they had all wanted their share of what had been one of the most successful publishers of urban fantasy at that point. They had turned up in every office, interviewing people about their work processes, taking notes and drawing up elaborate diagrams to prove without a doubt that at least half the staff was superfluous and needed to go.

Oghren had been the first. An overweight, short, pipe-smoking veteran like him, with a penchant for Scotch whisky, didn't fit into the brave new world of publishing. Garevel had disappeared as well, his caretaking job outsourced to a firm from the Blackmarsh that paid minimum wage and promised maximum service. Sigrun and Kristoff had been next, and then so many others that she'd lost count. By now, they had all gotten used to seeing e-mails titled "Goodbye" or "Farewell" pop up in their inbox on a regular basis.

Sometimes Megan wondered whether they should have put up more resistance. But what would be the point? Even Mr Varel, her head of department, was powerless to do anything about the changes. She herself was nothing but a simple copy editor, at the lowest level of the food chain. Stroud probably didn't even know she existed and, if he did, he didn't care.

"Meg? Can I bother you with this for a moment?" Carver popped his head through her office door, holding up a bundle of papers; print-outs from the newly introduced planning software, by the looks of it. "I can't really make sense of this."

"Well, you'd be the first," she muttered under her breath, taking the papers from him and frowning at the long columns of numbers.

Carver smiled apologetically, his large brown eyes fixed on her with a hopeful expression. _Poor sod_. He was actually one of the more capable interns they'd had in the past few years but, with things going the way they were, he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of staying around once his time was up. Which was really bloody unfair, considering he'd slaved away at this post for more than a year for next to no money in the hope of landing a permanent position.

Quickly, she scanned the numbers until she found what she was looking for. "See? Someone swapped those two digits. The system can't figure it out and comes up with what we commonly refer to as total bullshit."

Carver grinned. "Is that the technical term?"

"Absolutely." She smiled back. He was such a nice guy. Handsome, too. It was a pity, really. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. "Unless you'd like to have lunch together?" He seemed nervous, his hand shaking slightly, and he was avoiding her gaze.

"I'd love to. But I'm expecting an important phone call at noon." She made a face.

"Howe?" Carver guessed, correctly. "Well, then I'll see you at our team meeting later in the afternoon." He did his best to sound nonchalant, but there was no mistaking his disappointment.

"Sure." As the door closed behind him, Megan dropped into her desk chair with a sigh and pulled a stack of papers toward her. She'd pretended to be mad about having to take a call at lunchtime but, if she was honest, it would be the highlight of her day.

_Nathaniel Howe._ "Her" author. She'd never even met him in person, but she had spent untold hours on the phone with him, discussing the latest instalment of his hugely popular _Waking the Dragon_ series. He had such an amazing voice, rough and gravelly, and a lovely wry sense of humour. And, of course, she adored his writing, so witty, so full of fascinating references and vivid descriptions. Megan had never told anyone, but she'd spent hours fantasizing about the man, trying to imagine what he looked like.

When the phone rang, she picked up the receiver with a bright smile. "Nathaniel. What can I do for you?"

"Megan." Maker, just hearing him say her name made her all hot and bothered. She really needed to get a grip on herself. "I was going to go through the changes you suggested with you, but something has come up." He sounded… different, a little upset maybe? "This morning I found a letter from Vigil Press in my mail. Signed by your new CEO. Apparently, he wants to 'discuss the terms of my contract in more detail.'"

_Shit!_ Megan felt a hot surge of fury. Just like Stroud, to do such a thing without even bothering to inform her. "I'm sorry, but-" For a moment she was lost for words, trying to find a way to say this without violating her code of loyalty. But then the anger won over. _I'm sick and tired of pretending everything's fine._ "I'm sorry, Nathaniel, but I have no idea what this is about. No one saw fit to tell me about it, and I'm really-"

"It's okay. I know it's not your fault." He sounded so understanding that she immediately felt ashamed for her little outburst. "I just wanted to let you know I'm coming over next week. Tuesday, I think. Can you get this organized for me? If Vigil Press can still afford my travel expenses, that is."

"Of course we can." She clenched her teeth. He wasn't far off, really. After all, none of the editing staff got to travel to conferences or book fairs anymore, because it was considered a waste of money. "I'll set it all up for you."

"Thank you. And, Megan?" She could _hear_ him smile. "I look forward to finally meeting you in person. I really do."

"So do I. Meeting you, I mean." Maker, she was babbling. "I'll call you tomorrow with the details."

"Right." There was a moment of hesitation, as if he wanted to add more, but then he just sighed. "Bye, Megan. I hope you have a good day."

"Bye, Nathaniel." She put down the receiver, closing her eyes as the realization hit home. _He's coming here. Next week._

Suddenly, the future didn't look quite as dismal anymore.

* * *

_That's it. The last one. This challenge is over – well, not quite, I have a bonus chapter waiting for you ;). This was so much fun! Some of these AUs definitely have the potential to grow into longer stories, I think._

_Also, this is the moment for a big resounding thank you to those of you who've stayed with me all through the 30 days. Special thanks go to Apollo Wings and Melysande for reviewing every single chapter and cheering me on, and extra super special thanks to my wonderful, patient and invaluable beta, Suilven! _


	31. Day 31 (Bonus) – Alice in Wonderland

******Day 31 (Bonus) – Alice in Wonderland**

_A/N: Some of you may have wondered about the title "Thirty Times Three". Beyond the obvious (thirty days times three people), this is taken from a wonderfully whimsical rhyme I found in _Alice in Wonderland_:_

_Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea__—  
__And welcome Queen Alice with thirty-times-three__!_

_So, to round things off, here's a bonus chapter – my attempt to send Megan, Nate, and Carver through the looking-glass. Enjoy!_

* * *

The antique looking-glass in the corner of Megan's room had always seemed perfectly ordinary. A nice size, to be sure, almost the height of a grown man, its frame beautifully gilded and ornamented. Her reflection in it had always been clear and true, and the room she could see inside it had been an exact replica of her own bedroom, with its flagstone floors and panelled walls, the big old chest under the window, and the huge four-poster bed with its purple velvet curtains. They had even had the occasional bit of special fun with that mirror, placing it right next to the bed and enjoying the view while they were making love.

Never in a million years would Megan have suspected it to be magical in nature. Not until that particular winter's day, right before First Day. Vigil's Keep was snowed in, with no way of entering or leaving, and still more snowflakes were falling from the sky, brushing softly against the windowpanes. Megan watched them dance, entranced by the whirling patterns.

"We're done for today." Nathaniel and Carver walked in, bringing a gust of cooler air with them. Their faces were ruddy from the cold and they looked tired, but happy. "I think we have enough wood for the bonfire tomorrow."

"It's about time," Megan pouted. "I was getting bored in here."

"Well, you could have joined us." Nathaniel embraced her from behind, grinning when she squealed at the touch of his cold hands. "Look at you, all pale and grumpy." He walked her over to the mirror and pointed at her reflection. "What you need is some time out in the snow, with a proper snowball fight to cheer you up."

"True." Carver joined them, a wide grin on his face. "So much fun."

"No, thanks." Megan yawned. "I was perfectly fine up here, dozing and dreaming, until the two of you showed up."

"Were you?" Nathaniel raised a suggestive eyebrow. "What were you dreaming about then?"

"Oh, this and that. Nothing but silly fantasies, really." She pointed at the mirror. "You know, when I was a kid, I used to pretend my mirror was a portal. I thought if I touched the glass it would turn all soft, like this… Maker! Did you see that?"

"What in Andraste's-" Nathaniel was staring at her hand, his face growing pale all of a sudden.

Because, at the spot where her finger was touching the glass, the firm surface had turned into a swirling mist, bright white like moonlight and oddly inviting.

"Don't touch it again, Meg, please-" Carver's voice was the last thing she heard, but it was too late already.

With a faint, whooshing noise, she passed through the glass and found herself on the other side, in a room exactly like the one she'd left, only everything was arranged the other way round. "What the-"

Before she could gather her wits, the surface of the mirror in front of her grew wobbly again and Nathaniel stepped through, followed by Carver.

"Megan!" Carver pulled her into a quick embrace. "There you are."

"I am." She freed herself gently of his arms and looked around her. "The question is: Where is _there_?"

When she reached out to touch the mirror again, it felt solid, cool, and smooth._ No going back this way, it seems. I wonder if this place is really a mirror of our own world. _Slowly, she approached the door. It was where she expected it but, when she opened it, there was no sign of her study. Instead, a large staircase wound its way downwards. Megan did her best to hold back but, like the mirror, the room beyond the door seemed to suck her in. She barely managed to hold on to Nathaniel's hand, pulling him and Carver with her as she floated down the stairs and toward a big panelled front door.

* * *

He had no choice but to follow her.

"Blight it, Megan!" Nathaniel's patience was wearing thin. "Can't you stay in one place for just one moment?"

"I'm afraid I can't." The look she gave him was wide-eyed with apprehension, and, when he looked down at himself, he realized why.

His leathers had disappeared and he was wearing what seemed to be a long red coat lined with ermine, with a large red heart pinned to his chest. And on his head… he reached up to find what was quite unmistakably a crown. "What-"

"Nate?" Carver sounded as shocked as he did. His own jerkin had made room for a coat with a curious red and blue pattern surrounding the same heart, and he was wearing an oddly shaped hat.

And Megan… Her long, stately dress matched his own coat, and she, too, had a crown on her head. And her expression was as baffled as his own. "We look like-"

"Cards. Playing cards. Like the set we use for Diamondback." Carver shook his head. "The Queen, the King, the Knave. Reminds me of the nursery rhyme."

Nathaniel nodded slowly. "_The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts_…" he began to recite.

"And the Knave stole them, and the King beat him for it." Megan laughed, but there was an edge of hysteria to her voice. "Let's hope we don't have to re-enact the thing."

"What is this, some kind of dream?" Carver sounded utterly bewildered.

They passed the door at this point and the odd, floating motion stopped. To their relief, they felt solid ground under their feet again; a well-kept lawn, to be precise. They were in a large, sunny garden, not a snowflake in sight, and a garden table was set for three. It looked inviting, with various cakes and pastries arranged on pretty plates with matching cups. All of a sudden, Nathaniel felt parched and ravenously hungry. _A bit too sudden, maybe…_ He took a closer look at the pattern on the cups and managed to make out the words _Drink Me_, written in a flowery script.

"Maker, I'm thirsty." Megan reached for the pot and poured a cup of tea, raising it to her lips before he could stop her.

"Meg, don't!" Carver moved to intercept her, but he, too, was too late. "What if it's poison?"

"It tastes fine. I don't think-" Megan fell silent, staring at her hand in sudden fear. "What's going on?"

"Maker!" Nathaniel watched in helpless horror as she began shrinking before his very eyes, not shrivelling up like a dried corpse, but growing smaller and smaller, until she was only slightly bigger than a squirrel.

"Meg!" Carver dropped to his knees, reaching out for her with a trembling hand.

The dress and crown had shrunk with her, making her look like a lifelike, very expensive doll. And yet, it was Megan, without a doubt. A very confused Megan, judging by the look on her face.

"What is this place?" Nathaniel did his best to fight back the growing sense of panic. "How can this be?"

To his surprise, Megan remained more or less calm. "I don't know. But it could be worse, I guess."

"Worse?" He went down on his knees as well, reaching out to run a careful fingertip along her tiny jaw. "How much worse?"

"Well, there could be monsters or bandits. Or predators, I guess. Oh Maker!" Megan almost jumped into his lap as a large tabby cat appeared under the table.

Nathaniel swallowed. She felt so fragile in his hands, and the thought of what the cat could have done to her without him to protect her was more than scary. _This is not as droll as it seems._

"Where did that cat come from?" Carver sounded even shakier than he felt. "It wasn't here a moment before."

"Of course I wasn't." Maybe it shouldn't have surprised them to hear the cat speak, considering what had happened earlier, but they still jumped at the sound.

"Are we all going mad?" Nathaniel realized he'd begun to sweat.

"That is very probable." The cat nodded sagely. "You see, we're all mad here, your Majesty. I'm mad, and the three of you must be mad to have come here. The Queen of Spades is most certainly mad."

"There's a Queen of Spades?" Megan interjected.

"Why is she mad?" Carver blurted out at the same time.

"Of course there is a Queen of Spades." The cat raised an eyebrow. "If there's a Queen of Hearts, it stands to reason, there's a Queen of Spades. And, yes, she is quite mad – she had at least twenty heads chopped off this morning alone."

Nathaniel closed his eyes, counting silently to ten. _Not a dream. A nightmare. _Yet, it wouldn't do to panic. "Meg. We need to get out of here. As soon as you're back to your normal size-"

"Ah, you drank the tea." The cat grinned. "Well, how about you have some cake to go with it."

Following this cryptic remark, it started to fade, vanishing slowly, until it seemed the only thing visible was its wide, nasty grin.

Megan gave Nathaniel a hopeful look. "You think it's telling the truth?"

He shrugged. "There's no way of knowing. All we can do is try."

"But what if the cake does something even worse?" Carver was trembling, too, he saw. "What if it kills you?"

Megan shrugged. "That's a risk I'll have to take. I can hardly stay like this. Besides," she tugged on Nathaniel's coat, motioning for him to put her up on the table. "I'm hungry."

They watched as she swallowed a tiny piece of cake, then breathed a collective sigh of relief when she began to grow again. Soon, she was back to her normal size.

"Megan." They both embraced her, shaking with emotion.

"I'm still hungry and thirsty." Carver's glance wandered back to the table, as if he was drawn there by some unseen attraction, yet he turned away with a shudder. "But I'm not having any of that. What now?"

"No idea." Megan stretched. "It would seem wise to avoid the Queen of Spades, I think."

"True." Nathaniel felt his lips set in a grim line. "Though that may not be possible."

* * *

They made their way through the garden, sticking to the paths, which were beautifully raked, their borders well-maintained. The flower-beds were full of daisies and lilies, vibrant bright flowers that seemed almost unnaturally luscious. Megan wasn't even surprised when a pink rose bush extended a branch straight across the path to stop them.

"Halt!"

She hadn't expect the bush to _talk_, though. On the other hand, if there were talking cats in this place, talking flowers weren't all that weird.

"I strongly advise you to walk the other way." The rose bush had a high, chirpy voice.

"Why?" Maker, it was getting hard to remain patient. "Is this path dangerous?"

"I daresay it is." The bush _chuckled_, and that was the strangest thing yet. "Why don't you join us here in our nice, soft bed? Much nicer than the gravel."

"No, thanks." Nathaniel raised a hand to push the branch aside, but it withdrew when he touched it, like a mimosa.

"Suit yourself, then." If the bush could have shrugged, it probably would have. _Creepy_.

They walked on, doing their best to avoid trouble but, as they turned a corner, they stepped out onto another expanse of lawn, and this one was crowded with people. If you could call them _people_. Megan swallowed when she realized that almost a full deck of cards was assembled here. There were spades and hearts and clubs and diamonds; knaves wearing the same odd headwear as Carver; aces with big round bellies; and all kinds of numbers from each of the four suits. There was only one queen, though, and one king.

The Queen of Spades was dressed exactly like herself, except where Megan's dress was red, hers was black, and the symbol on her chest was the familiar spade. Her hair was black, too, and her eyes dark like onyx, her pretty, heart-shaped face very pale. In her right hand, she had a long, slim sceptre set with gems arranged to represent spades, clubs, hearts and diamonds. The King of Spades was lingering in the background, apparently unwilling to leave his flower-wreathed throne, but the Queen came forward without delay.

"You! There!" Ignoring the two men, she addressed herself exclusively to Megan. "How dare you! I thought I'd gotten rid of all the impostors."

"What do you mean, impostors?" Megan frowned. "Surely, there should be four kings, and four queens."

"There's only one king. And _I_ am his queen." The Queen's voice grew shrill. "And you have stolen one of my subjects."

At a wave of her hand, two guards in uniforms decorated with clubs appeared right next to Carver. His hand went straight to where his sword would have been, but in vain. Even so, he would have been able to take them under normal circumstances. But their touch seemed to weaken him somehow, and he cursed in frustration as they took hold of him. Megan felt the bile rise in her throat as they dragged him over to a giant golden bird-cage and shoved him in. He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing the bars and shaking them, but to no avail.

"Oh no, you won't." Megan drew herself up to her full height, raising her chin. "He's not yours. He's _mine_."

The Queen of Spades smiled maliciously. "Are you challenging me, my dear? Others have done so, and regretted it. What's to stop me from having my guards arrest you and having you beheaded?"

Megan shook her head, slowly and deliberately. "I don't think you can do that." Ignoring the Queen's angry exhale, she went on. "If you could, you would have done so already. Look, I'm a queen, just as much as you are. I think if you want to get rid of me, you have to beat me in a fair fight. Am I right?"

"True," the Queen hissed, "but _you_ challenged me, so I get to choose the weapons."

"What about me?" Nathaniel was clenching his teeth, struggling to hold back.

The Queen of Spades favoured him with an icy smile. "You will keep out of this, same as _my_ dear husband."

The next moment, Nathaniel was frozen in place, raging helplessly, while the Queen turned away and motioned for a guard to bring her a wooden box.

"Here, my dear. These are the weapons I choose." She opened the box with a flourish.

Inside, there were four long, slim daggers, beautifully wrought, their hilts inlaid with hearts, clubs, spades, and diamonds respectively. Megan bit back a relieved sigh. If this fight was going to involve blades, the Queen might find herself at a disadvantage. Yet, she knew she had to remain cautious.

The Queen of Spades picked the dagger carrying her own symbol, and pushed the one with the hearts over to Megan, then smiled coolly at her. "Take one more. Your choice."

Megan hesitated for a mere heartbeat before she reached for the diamond. There was a brief murmur from the crowd, and the Queen of Spades' eyes narrowed for a heartbeat. _Seems I chose well_.

* * *

A trumpet sounded and Megan and the Queen stepped into a circle formed by the spectators. Carver grabbed the bars of his cage harder, but they wouldn't give an inch. They might be gilded, but they were as solid as good steel. He felt so helpless, but it had to be worse for Nathaniel. He glanced over at his lover, his chest constricting painfully at the look of despair on Nathaniel's face.

The Queen of Spades put aside her crown and sceptre, then untied the wide cloak she wore and handed it to an attendant. Underneath, she wore tight black leggings and a white blouse. Megan followed suit, revealing the same attire except for her leggings, which were a deep, dark red.

They didn't waste a second before the fight began. It quickly became apparent that the daggers were magical, their properties depending on the symbol they bore. Megan's heart dagger flashed fire whenever it connected, while the spade seemed to freeze whatever it touched. The club carried some kind of elemental damage, while the diamond fizzled with an electric charge. Carver groaned inwardly. This had the potential to become nasty very soon.

The two were almost evenly matched too, but, as he watched their moves, he realized one important detail. The Queen of Spades, while graceful and quick, was utterly predictable. The same kind of feint drew the same reaction every time. It didn't take Megan long to work this out. At the Queen's next attack, she pretended to be too slow to evade it and dropped to her knees with a cry of pain. When the Queen pressed her advantage, she moved, fast as lightning, and buried her dagger deep in her opponent's heart.

The Queen went down without a sound, not a drop of blood visible on her dress. The King of Spades gave one quick cry of pain, then slumped to the ground as well. Without missing a beat, Megan picked up her crown and put it on her head, then reached for the sceptre. Two guards put her cloak around her shoulders.

The door of the cage opened, swinging soundlessly on its hinges, and Carver jumped out. Nathaniel's paralysis seemed to have worn off, too. Pushing aside several of the card people, Carver rushed over to him. In the meantime, Megan had raised her sceptre to the skies. Her voice sounded oddly mechanic as she intoned a verse.

_"The King and the Queen of Spades, they lie dead._  
_I've a sceptre in hand, I've a crown on my head._  
_Let the Looking-Glass creatures, whatever they be_  
_Come dine with the king, the knave, and with me!"_

Carver exchanged a worried glance with Nathaniel. "What's happening to her?"

"I don't know." Nathaniel shivered. "But I don't like it."

There was no time to say more, though, because a table appeared from nowhere in the middle of the lawn, a large oaken table, laden to the brim with food and wine. Megan took her seat in a high-backed chair and Nathaniel and Carver were ushered to the places on her left and right. And then, everyone burst into song, a long elaborate ballad, with every verse ending in the same two lines.

_"Put cats in the coffee, and mice in the tea—_  
_And welcome Queen Megan with thirty-times-three!"_

Carver threw a suspicious glance at the cups, but it seemed this time it was just a figure of speech. The strange lyrics hardly seemed to register with Megan, though. Her face was very pale, and her eyes very dark, and somehow hazy and distant.

"We have to do something," Carver mouthed at Nathaniel, who nodded back, his expression grim.

When a servant took a deep bow before Megan, they glanced at each other, then reached out at the same time and firmly took hold of her wrists.

"Megan." Nathaniel's voice was rough with emotion. "You've got to snap out of this."

"Now." Carver added, hoping desperately it would be enough.

Megan blinked once, twice, and then shook herself out of the trance. "This is madness," she muttered. Taking a deep breath, she raised her sceptre. "If I'm the Queen of this place," she announced in a high, clear voice, "then I hereby order you to take the three of us back to where we came from."

A hush fell over the garden as the conversations died down. Everyone was staring at Megan, but she remained firm. "Go on. That's a royal command."

"Your Majesty." The Knave of Spades bowed deeply. "If you would kindly step onto the table."

Carver's head was spinning but, at Megan's signal, he climbed up next to her, glancing at the large soup tureen in the middle of the table. There was no soup in it, he saw, just a whirling fog that looked faintly familiar.

"This is your way out." The Knave bowed politely, gesturing at the tureen.

It didn't make sense, but then, very little had done so in the past few hours.

"All right." Megan gestured at Carver. "You first. Then Nate. I'll go last."

"Meg, you-" He felt numbed by sudden fear, but she gave him a quick shove.

"Now." Her eyes were green and clear again, and there was a hint of a smile around her lips. "Trust me."

He took a step forward, and then everything went dark.

When he woke, he was in his bed, naked and shivering. The fire must have gone out at some point in the night, and Megan and Nathaniel were huddled together under the blanket, breathing softly. Carver's muscles were tense like ropes and he was so _cold_. Grabbing a corner of the blanket, he wiggled under it right next to them, grateful for their warmth, glad the nightmare was over.

Megan grunted when she felt his icy feet, blinking sleepily at him. "Carver. Where have you been? You know, I had the oddest dream..."


End file.
